


Stakeout + Bridal Carry

by TANGOCHARLIE



Series: The Carries [2]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016) Whump, Banter, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Whump, Whump, spy siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-17 13:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21055220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TANGOCHARLIE/pseuds/TANGOCHARLIE
Summary: The time Jack carried Mac out of the woods.





	1. The Waiting is the Hardest Part

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for use of big boy words and gratuitous references to music from last century
> 
> Thanks for reading

Ten days into their recon mission, Mac and Jack were ready to pack it up and head home. Ten days of eating canned beans warmed over a campfire. Ten days of cured salty meats with enough nitrates and preservatives to keep their own bodies from decomposing later. Jack insisted on shotgunning half a glass of apple cider vinegar every morning "to ward off the flying insects" but all it did was give him a faint but pungent odor after so many days without a proper shower or shave. Of course Mac's face was still as smooth as a baby's bottom, but Jack was starting to look like a grizzly mountain man, especially since he'd stopped shaving as soon as they got word of this mission so he wouldn't feel that new beard itch he gets in the first few days without shaving. 

Their basecamp was three miles away from the stakeout site, a nondescript campsite for two regular dudes being dudes in the woods. They'd arrived in a giant maroon pickup truck with a large reservoir of drinking water in the back to conceal all of the nifty surveillance equipment they'd brought with them. 

On their first day in the woods, they set up camp and cooked steaks over an open flame; they'd considered using the generator on the diesel truck to run a small refrigerator for cold beer and fresh food, but had only intended to stay a few days to gather intel, of which they still had bupkis. Jack had however refused to budge when it came to lugging the zero gravity chairs to the stakeout site. He dragged them three miles under the guise of darkness, strapped to his back while his partner pulled a wagon full of equipment for their clandestine op. 

They'd run out of things to talk about hours ago. Mac put down his knitting needles and stretched as far as he could with a big yawn, elongating his body until his chair extended all the way out flat. He rolled on to his side to face Jack, not expecting his movement to go unnoticed much less be completely ignored. His face twisted into a mix of disappointment and frustration

The last several hours had been silent by all accounts, no activity at the black site they were tasked to watch, and Jack hadn't said a word, concentrating very intently on whatever he was doodling in that notebook. Mac moved emphatically and readjusted the dorky tan boonie hat he was wearing that Jack liked to make fun of him for wearing. His partner still didn't take his eyes from the sketch pad. For a moment, he'd considered throwing something at Jack but figured he could pull him away from his drawing with a little humor.

In a falsetto voice with his head propped up on his elbow Mac squawked at Jack, "Draw me like one of your French girls."

Without missing a beat or taking his eyes off his paper, Jack responded deadpan "I would, but you look like the Crocodile Hunter's grandma with that hat and yarn."

The blonde groaned and whined like a petulant child, "Talk to me, I'm bored!"

Jack put down his pencil and looked straight at his younger partner, "Why don't you keep knitting? Or collect more of that weed you've been stockpiling over there."

"I'm almost out of yarn. I've already finished a second lace shawl for Riley since we've been here. How many black wool accessories does a girl need?"

“So what's this then?” He motioned to the wool pile in Mac's seat.

"Nothing! I've frogged and reknitted this same ball of yarn three times. This,” he held it up in front of his face, “is a sleeve? a leg-warmer? a koozy for that old green Stanley thermos you carry around that's older than my grandfather.” He paused, “I'm so bored, I just needed to keep my hands busy, and circular stockinette is the easiest way to do that. I honestly thought you would be the first to go stir crazy here, and you were close four days ago, but you calmed down." The kid's rant was starting to scare Jack. "What did you do? How did you fix it? Did You ingest some magic mushrooms or poison berries? Peyote? What the hell, man?"

"I don't know, man. It's peaceful. It's quiet. I feel relaxed. This is the easiest mission we've seen in years. Sure it’s taking three times longer than it should have, but I'll call once we get back to basecamp to see if we can pack this operation up tomorrow; it's clear that we're not going to find anything." Jack closed his sketchbook and slid his pencil into the coil, standing up with an invigorating stretch. 

While his TAC vest and array of firearms wasn't necessary for this particular recon mission, Jack still kept it stashed at the stakeout site just in case. He did however keep a tiny .22 Sig Mosquito in the pocket of what Riley dubbed his "dad shorts," in case of snakes or rabid vermin. Mac liked to tease Jack about the giant bowie knife strapped to his bare calf. "It was a gift," he replied so many times in response to the jest, "from my SEAL friend McGarrett. I want to be able to tell him I used it."

"But you haven't used it." Mac would always counter.

Jack threw back something different every time, the latest being , "wearing counts as using, even if I don't do something with it. Like would you consider this sock on my foot used before I shoved it down your throat to shut you up, or not until after?" That did indeed shut him up.

Mac went over to his pile of collected weeds, bending and flattening a piece, and pulling it apart. He then turned to Jack and stated as a matter of factly, "Well the purpose of the sock is to be worn on your foot, so yes, the sock is already used. The purpose of the knife is to slice or cut things, which you haven't done."

"But these straps attached to the knife sheath" he motioned enthusiastically with both hands at the straps," are for attaching it to my body, which it is most definitely doing. So it IS being used." 

"Ok. Ok. You win. But please go back to wearing full length pants when we get home."  


"I dunno, I kinda like the breeze I'm getting up in here." Jack smirked and pulled his thighs apart and pushed them back together repeatedly like a bellows. 

Mac made a sound of disgust and turned back to the stick he was tinkering with, pulling and tearing it lengthwise.

“You’ve been fiddling with those sticks since we got here, what in the world are you doing? Weaving baskets?” 

"Actually, that’s pretty close. The stinging nettle plant can be harvested for the soft fiber inside and then spun into yarn or fabric,” he explained as he bent and pulled the nettle over and over again, working it until he held the wooden pith in one hand and the soft fibers in the other, “see, the fibers can be spun and used for any textiles, and the wooden pith can be used to make paper. If we were to be stuck here indefinitely, we would not run out of things to do.”

“Hey, don’t put that curse on us. I plan to be in that truck headed back to the land of electricity and Dairy Queen by sun up tomorrow.”

“I sure hope so.” Mac was feeling better after finally breaking up the silence and ecstatic about the prospect of getting back home. While he was definitely an outdoorsy guy, this was not a recreational camping trip. Sure they’d had fun the first few days, bonding and relaxing, but this had grown painfully monotonous. 

Jack folded up the chairs and placed them next to the surveillance equipment. “Let’s pack it up and call it a day.” 

Looking up at the sky, Mac countered, “We still have a good 3 hours of daylight. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, help me load this crap onto the wagon, I think it's time to call it quits.”

Mac's desperation and earlier ranting, made Jack's decision to pack up and leave without getting permission first a no brainer. Jack would gladly take any write up for insubordination if it meant he got Mac out of there before the kid went stir crazy.

They put their Tetris skills to work and loaded the equipment into a glorious 5 feet tall rectangular prism secured with bungee cords. Jack knew that hanging the lawn chairs off the side of their geometric masterpiece would make Mac's eye twitch, but he did it anyway as Mac slung his messenger bag over his shoulder instead of throwing it on top of the stack where it would sully the finesse of such a beautifully stacked metal monstrosity. 

As Jack put the finishing touches on their work of modern art, he heard a gunshot and the clang of a bullet hitting the hollow aluminum frame of the folding chair. "Shit!" he yelped as he took cover behind the wagon, relieved to find his partner was back there before the shot was fired.

"Was that...? " Mac was now crouching.  


"I think so, yeah." Jack admired the jagged hole in the chair leg where the projectile had blown through it, still hot to the touch, causing him to hiss and recoil.

"What do you want to do?"

  


"Not a lot of options here. My damn vest is somewhere in this pile, I've got 10 rounds in this," he pulled back the slide of his .22 to make sure one round was chambered and let it slam back into place. "Maybe it's just a confused hunter thinking he's found big foot's cousin or something." Another shot came from a location to the east of the first, definitely a larger more powerful weapon than the first. "Ok. Then two hunters, or a cheetah with a rifle running real fast. Why you askin' me? You're the one with the brilliant escape plans. I've got a BB gun on steroids; we may not be able to shoot our way out of this without my TAC vest."

"Let's move back toward camp, pulling this along as cover, you can dig for your vest while I pull the wagon. They'll catch up soon enough, but hopefully we'll have time to get what we need out and make a run for it." The wagon was much more difficult to maneuver with the rough terrain, combined with Jack playing Jenga with the pieces of equipment looking for his vest. Mac inverted the handle so he could push while still being shielded by the wagon's contents; it was quite the struggle. The ground was relatively flat, but the brush and other foliage were still a hindrance. 

They were still taking fire, but not as much as they'd expected. For every 2 shots, Jack tried to return with one, but the small firearm was really more for making noise more than causing damage. Jack grunted and shoved pieces of expensive surveillance equipment off the stack, crashing to the ground, until he finally found his vest. Sliding it over his head, he secured the velcro straps let out an excited yelp. "It's on now!"

  
Jogging slightly ahead of his partner's slow progress, to announce his new plan, "I got you covered, man, keep going forward," the final instructions were stern, "and STAY behind this stack."  


The blonde gave a nod and kept trudging along. Jack stepped out from the safety of their machine mountain to draw fire away from Mac and to try to get a position on their assailants. He felt a bullet cut by him about a foot away. "I got you now," he growled between his teeth, aimed at the direction the shot came from, and once he saw a glimpse of pink skin, he fired and took the guy out. 

Mac had made it a good 30 feet ahead of Jack, so he'd walked backwards to catch up, while keeping an eye out for the second shooter. About 20 Paces later, after no more activity, Jack turned around and trot-jogged toward his partner. When he'd nearly caught up, they heard 2 bangs in quick succession, and Jack went down with a heavy grunt. Mac scrambled toward where his best friend was lying face down on the ground. "Jack!" Another round hit low near Mac's feet, and another burst a tire on the wagon. Loss of the tire made the whole rig completely unbalanced to where hundreds of pounds of metal and electronics were about to topple onto Jack. On a rush of adrenaline, Mac pivoted toward the stack and held it steady, utilizing every limb and muscle he had to keep it from falling apart. The parts removed while looking for the TAC vest had ruined the structural integrity they'd worked so hard to achieve. Stray parts were still clattering to the ground after he stopped the tower from falling over. Mac pushed the majority of the contents in the opposite direction, away from his downed partner. Something snapped in his knee as he shoved the last rogue falling piece away. The equipment landed with a loud crash, and formed a convenient above ground foxhole to protect them for a few moments. Mac fell to the ground clutching his twisted knee. Immediately ignoring that lightning bolt of pain, he pulled himself to a sitting position to look Jack up and down. He rolled Jack onto his back as he began to groan and open his eyes. "Jack? Jack, are you hit? I don't see any blood." The panic in Mac's voice made the hair on Jack's neck stand on end.  


"No. Got my vest," he gasped, "in my back," still trying to catch his breath, "knocked the wind out of me. What's wrong with you?" Sharp Inhale. "You hit?" Pained grunting. "Look like you've seen a ghost."   


Mac hadn't even realized he was panting through his pain. "Twisted my knee. Think I dislocated it."  


"Knee or kneecap?"

"Kneecap maybe knee. Not sure."

"Shit, brother, we need to get that taken care of. Lemme take this fuckstick out so we can get back to the truck and get you to a hospital."

Rage bubbled up inside of Jack and he sprung up with energy he wasn't aware he still possessed. He fired into the trees, hoping the other guy would fire back and give up his location. Two more shots came back in response to his. 

"Gotcha" Jack winked as he peeked over their makeshift foxhole, fired two shots in quick succession, and heard the other man fall. From the sound of it, their last assailant had gotten pretty close before being taken out. Standing, he holstered his Glock and put his left hand hand out to help pull Mac up. With practiced efficiency and grace, the blonde stood on his left leg and hooked his right arm across Jack's shoulders.

"You sure you're ok?" Mac questioned when Jack moved a little more awkwardly as they adjusted to balance their newly combined weight. Jack responded with a quick nod, and with a silent count of three in a speed and cadence well established over their years together in various states of crippling injury, they took off without another word.   


Mac dug his fingers into Jack's shoulder as if his life depended on it, like squeezing harder would somehow diminish his pain. They hobbled along together, back toward basecamp when another round buzzed by Jack 's arm. Thankfully a miss, Jack tried to pivot himself without moving Mac to face their newest unexpected shooter. The death grip on his shoulder only slightly affecting his muscle memory for firing. Jack compensated for that, hitting the final suspect center mass. As he went down, the assailant squeezed off one final shot, hitting Mac's inner left thigh. Jack cursed himself for not going for a headshot, but he wasn't sure if the less than ideal shooting conditions would decrease his accuracy too much.

The jarring impact and loss of Mac's weight bearing leg almost sent them to the ground, but Jack wrenched his already bruised back to keep them upright. Mac could tell his older partner was trying to get a look at the injury, so he grunted through clenched teeth, "Just a flesh wound, keep going. There still might be more."


	2. Twice as Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac's been shot, taking out his other leg as they try to hobble back to civilization.
> 
> Now comes the whump.

"I need to check it and try to stop the bleeding."

"We need to find better cover first. Bigger trees, thicker brush." Mac insisted, trying to breathe through the pain of walking on his wounded leg while also avoiding putting weight on his other knee. Jack was doing his best to keep Mac from touching the ground at all, worried about the pain he could be causing by lifting him so hard by the ribs and armpit while Mac was trying to apply pressure to the wound. They were an awkwardly moving blob, nothing like the smooth moving efficient machine they were hustling just moments before. 

Another 100 feet and Jack was panting. "We have to stop. Check you out."

"Just keep going! I'm fine."

"Can't. I'm old. My back ain't made to bend like this anymore. Need to stop and readjust or we'll end up ass over teakettle in about 5 more feet. May as well stop your bleeding while we're at it."

The blonde sighed and pressed his left side against a thick tree and allowed Jack to ease him down. Jack plopped his own ass on the ground harder than he'd anticipated and gasped at the jolt of pain that shot up his spine. Mac thankfully missed Jack's falter as his pulse was throbbing in his ears, squeezing his eyes shut as if he were trying to match the amount of pressure he was putting on the hole in his leg. He felt Jack try to move his hand to see what they were dealing with, and Mac pressed down harder. 

"Come on, son, let me look."

Mac pried his eyes open and slowly released the breath he'd been holding into a slow and focused stream to ward off the pain. His hand eased off his blood soaked inner thigh and he sank back against the tree that he didn't realize was holding him up. Using his bowie knife from his calf holster, Jack cut a larger hole into Mac's pants to check out the wound. 

"It's not that bad, brother." Jack lied as he watched a steady stream pour out before putting pressure on it. "Now this is gonna suck," he lifted Mac's leg and searched for an exit wound with his other hand. "Only one hole, small caliber. Good. Now put your hand back here again." He pressed Mac's hand onto the top of his own and pulled both of his away, wiping them on his pants to try to reduce the slickness so he could remove his knife holster. "What you got in that bag? Bandana?" Mac silently nodded and lifted the flap of his messenger bag. "Awesome!" Jack quickly retrieved the bandana and tied it tightly to where the knot was directly over the wound. Then he strapped his knife holster onto Mac's thigh so the 2 straps were above and below the hole, using the sheath itself to hold firm and steady pressure on the knot. 

"That's pretty clever, Jack." Mac gave him a tired and lopsided smile. 

"And if we have to eventually use the top one as tourniquet, we can," he explained as he refastened the straps just a little tighter to account for movement. "Now what about this other leg?" He lightly touched Mac's knee and was answered with a pained yelp. "Lemme put it back where it goes so we can get out of here and get it fixed."

Mac inhaled deeply and nodded. Jack scooted over to his friend's side and placed his own thigh under Mac's bent knee to support it. He held the back of the boy's calf and flattened his palm on top of Mac's thigh. Slowly and gently Jack pushed up on Mac's calf to straighten his knee, and was met with resistance and pained grunts. Jack gave the thigh a gentle reassuring squeeze as he instructed in a quiet nurturing voice, "Relax this, don't try to help lift. You gotta let this go." He gently massaged Mac's quadriceps. "There ya' go." Jack soothed, finally getting the leg straightened and up about 30 degrees, he slid his right hand down to Mac's kneecap and pushed it back into place.

"Gah!" Visibly more relaxed, but still panting, Mac nodded a thank you to the older man.

"Do you happen to have an ace bandage or anything in there, boy scout?" He indicated to the canvas bag, and Mac pulled it off his shoulder and handed it over. Jack rifled around in the bag and found the sleeve or whatever that circular shaped thing was that Mac was knitting. "This is perfect. Your britches are too tight to get anything under there, so we'll just slide this over the top, some compression is better than none, that sucker is gonna swell." 

"Thanks, Jack." His face was pale and sweaty.

"Now how are we gonna do this? Wagon's missing a tire, but we could use two wheels and drag the back end with you in it."

"I can walk." Mac declared, sounding defeated knowing he was going to be a burden no matter what. 

"Or we could take you out behind the barn and put you down." Jack gave a wry smile and stood, extending his hand. They resumed their previous three legged hobble and trudged on. 

Mac felt it was better for him to walk on the leg with the bullet hole as opposed to the knee that could bear no weight, but neither was doing much work. They needed to stop again. He never thought of his partner as a burden, but Jack wasn't sure how long he could keep this up. The angle was awkward and Mac kept faltering, causing Jack to overcompensate and wrench his bruised back over and over again. 

"I need another minute." Jack huffed and stopped walking.

"Just leave me near a clearing and come back later with a helicopter. I'm dragging us both down." 

"No way in hell I'm leaving you here alone. I'm just not a spring chicken anymore. Gotta stop and rest more. We should get back to camp in another hour, even at this pace." He stretched and bent over, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his arm, forgetting it was covered with blood. "Everything still on tight and holding you together?" Jack could see that the blood had already soaked through the bandage all the way down his pants leg, Mac nodded anyway and relied way too much on a nearby tree to keep him upright. "Alright, let's go."

They'd only made it a few more steps before Jack stopped again. "This is a really awkward way to go, I'm sorry man."

"We could make some crutches and I could try to rely on those to support most of my weight."

"But with what? That little saw on your knife may cut one branch in 10 minutes. By the time you got done cutting branches to make crutches, we could be at camp and on the way to the hospital. I'm just gonna…" he scooped Mac up from behind his knees and held him bridal style with a satisfied smile. "Your weight is much more evenly distributed, I can double our pace, and my back isn't being strained on one side." 

Resigned, Mac sighed, "If you insist. But I don't see how this is better, making you carry 100% of my weight and me helping none."

"Hoss, if you call that helping…no, just enjoy the ride. I promise not to sing Whitney Houston." Jack's sly grin revealed that was a lie as he headed back toward their basecamp yet again. The silence wasn't so much awkward as it was unnerving, so Jack started singing. "And I----" 

"Jack," Mac whined, "you promised." 

"Ok. Ok. Plus I'm much sexier than Costner, but I'd probably trade you for Whitney right now. And I was just trying to break the silence."

"You're talking right into my ear. Enjoy the silence," He knew immediately that he'd just triggered another song in Jack 

"Words like violence, break the silence. Come crashing in, into my little world."

"Funny, you never struck me as a Depeche Mode guy".

"You know I like everything."

"Unfortunately."

"I'll be quiet now. I promise." 

Jack kept his promise for quite a while, until he felt the death grip on his right shoulder start to loosen up and Mac's head weigh heavier on his shoulder. It wasn't the kid getting comfortable; he'd lost too much blood. Time to kick the hornet nest again so he went with the first song that popped into his head. 

"Where have all the good men gone, and where are all the gods? Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?"

"Come on, Jack, I don't even know this one."

"Yes you do. Wait for the hook." His voice louder and more enthusiastic with each line. "Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed? Late at night I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need." Jack took a big breath to belt out the next part, "I need a hero!"

"Oh yeah. That one." Mac filled the musical rest with his deadpan realization.

Jack continued with even more delight "I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night

He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast, and he's gotta be fresh from the fight."

"Are you done?" Mac droned into Jack’s shoulder. 

Satisfied with the reaction he got, Jack beamed his 100-watt smile, "Yep!" And continued their trek through the woods for a while longer until Mac interrupted the reprieve. 

"Why do you always talk about being old? I know we tease you about it a lot, but if we actually thought you were old, we wouldn't."

"I've been feeling it lately, man. That feeling of mortality is creeping up. We've been invincible for so long. My bones creak and crack, I have to wear my old man glasses to see the score on the tv, my eyebrows...my chaparral, both used to be so plush and dark-now thinning out, and don't even get me started on the bathroom thing. You know, sometimes I want a mission to go sideways just so I can take a big monster post fight or flight shit on the plane going home."

"Yea, I wish you wouldn't. Close quarters and all, it just lingers." 

"I never noticed."

"Everyone is nose blind to their own brand. Believe me. Bozer threatened to make some high fiber bran muffins disguised as chocolate chip muffins for our off days so you could show up cleaned out before a mission." Mac’s chuckle reverberated against Jack’s chest making him smile.

“That’s cruel, man, but genius. I may take him up on those muffins anyway. No subterfuge necessary.” 

“I mean it though, you’re not old, I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. You’re carrying a grown man, for christ’s sake.”

“It’s ok, I know what you mean. We don’t have to have a broment right now with the I’m sorries and the I love yous. Just stay awake for another half mile, hoss. We’re almost there.”

“I’m sorry.” He returned weakly, 

“Stop that! or I’m gonna start singing again. Maybe you can guess my theme if I sing you a few more numbers.”

“Don’t do it.” 

Jack started singing, “To all those people doing lines, don’t do it, don’t do it.”

Mac lifted his head and made stern eye contact with Jack, “Why are you butchering the Cranberries?”

“It got you to yell at me, didn’t it?”

“Touché." 

Noticing the grip on his shoulder ease up again, he then felt an arm swing down his back and his charge's forehead droop into the crook of his neck.

"Shit!" checking the blood soaked pants leg again, he noticed it was significantly more saturated than it had been a few minutes ago. He hefted Mac up in his arms to readjust his grip and increase his stride. While the last thing he ever wanted to do was cause Mac pain, he was hoping the jarring move would elicit some response, but it did not. 

Until right then, he hadn't noticed the burning in his shoulders, arms, and back. Everything was strained and starting to twitch. "You weigh like a buck fifty, hoss," he mumbled to himself, "right about now you might as well be a busted ass Volkswagen " 

Once he saw the truck in the distance, he picked up the pace again. He'd not heard a peep from the blonde in his arms for several minutes; hair brushing against Jack's chin as Mac's head lolled side to side with every awkward step. Unsure whether the intense rhythmic thumping Jack felt was due to the lack of blood flow to his own arms or Mac's steady pulse radiating from his ribcage, he desperately wanted to check on his partner. 

Still slipping lower down his arms, he jostled Mac into a more secure grip. He needed so badly to stop and rest, but salvation was half a football field away. If he stopped moving now, he'd never get going again, running on sheer force of will and stubbornness. He smiled at Mac's voice droning on about kinetic energy and inertia until he realized that he was hallucinating. 

"Shit! shit! shit!" Toggling between needing to vomit and blacking out, Jack was determined to close that last 50 feet between them and their vehicle. Darkness was creeping in on the edges of his vision, but he was so close. Ten more steps. Five steps. 

He grabbed the lever on the tailgate to release it, but the blood on his hands caused it to slip from his fingertips. He draped most of Mac over his left shoulder, apologizing silently for the manhandling, and yanked the tailgate release with all of the energy he could muster. He let go and jumped back, letting it drop open with a startling bang that left him momentarily shell-shocked.

He dumped Mac as gently as he could into the back of the truck, but Mac's head bounced off the black polyurethane bed-liner as Jack fell to his knees on the ground. He locked his elbows to keep from face-painting into the earth and heaved the remaining contents of his stomach onto the grass. There are limits to what the human body can do or tolerate, but those don't apply to Jack when his boy is in trouble, he was getting back up. Stay conscious. Do not pass out. He kept repeating to himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title reference:  
Twice as Hard - Black Crowes 1990
> 
> Songs mentioned:  
I Will Always Love You - Whitney Houston (cover) 1992  
Enjoy the Silence - Depeche Mode 1990  
Salvation - Cranberries 1996  
Holding Out for a Hero - Bonnie Tyler 1984
> 
> Hmmm that's almost enough music to warrant creating a spotify playlist for said fic, especially when the next chapter has even more music referenced.


	3. When the Levee Breaks

Not trusting his numb and throbbing fingers to verify Mac's status, Jack focused on the rise and fall of Mac's chest, satisfied with what he observed. Jack stood up and fell back to the ground unsteadily, grabbing the side of the truck to guide himself to the door. Looting around in his cargo shorts pockets, he smashed all of the buttons on the truck's keyfob, lacking the dexterity and focus to press the one button he needed, inadvertently activating the remote start and panic alarm before finding the door unlock. Jack grabbed the trauma kit from behind the seat and walked a little steadier back to the tailgate, relying on the stability of the large vehicle much less now. He dropped the MOLLE backed bag next to Mac's head, mentally kicking himself for not attaching it to the back of his TAC vest like he usually did on missions. Had they had it at the stakeout site, Mac wouldn't have lost so much blood; he wouldn't be unconscious in the bed of a pickup truck.

Pushing through the fog in his head and forcing his fingers to work, he unzipped the bag and pulled out the scissors. He willed his numb clumsy fingers to do the motions and cut through the thick material of Mac's pants, thankful the scissors had a blunt tip or there would be more holes to patch up. The discarded pant leg hit the ground with a grotesque splat, and Jack's stomach turned. He unfastened the bottom strap of the knife sheath that was holding pressure on the wound and lifted it up to assess and redress. Jack dumped the trauma kit contents onto the truck, relieved to find the Quik-clot pouch intact.

With his mind clearing and grateful that he was getting his second wind, Jack snipped and removed the saturated bandana, crushed when the wound continued to trickle blood. He tore the Quik-clot pouch open with his teeth and dumped the gauze roll into his hand, bending Mac's knee to gain access to his whole thigh. Bunching up a wad of gauze, he pressed it into the bullet hole and wrapped the remainder of the roll around Mac's thigh and pressed the wound hard. Mac screamed and grabbed for his leg.

"Hey hey. Slow down, turbo." Jack called out. "I gotta hold this for a few minutes so it can do its job and we can get out of here "

Mac squeezed his eyes closed tightly and pressed his palms to his forehead, trying to suppress a wail of pain. His back arched when he tried unsuccessfully to channel the agonizing pain to any other part of his body.

Jack wished his own hands weren't occupied by this important task because all he wanted to do was place a comforting hand on his partner's chest. "I'm sorry, hoss. Almost done. Just a little longer." He wasn't sure if Mac even heard him, but it was all he could do to help at the moment.

Mac deflated and his arms dropped to his side. 

"Nonononono, come on," Jack begged as he secured the bottom of the knife sheath over the packed wound again without haste and made his way toward Mac's face. With a few light cheek taps and his voice growing progressively louder, he pleaded for Mac to wake up again. Mac groaned with annoyance and turned away from the hand slapping his cheek. 

"Welcome back." Jack's grin reached his eyes. "You ready to get out of here?"

Mac gave a slight nod with his chin and tried to raise up on his elbows. Jack's palm was immediately at the small of Mac's back to assist. Mac painstakingly rotated his hips so he was sitting upright with his legs hanging off the tailgate, gripping the makeshift seat hoping for the wave of pain to subside. "Don't get too comfortable, we gotta get in the truck." Mac's shoulders sagged and he sighed audibly, knowing he was about to get toted like a child into the seat. Jack jogged to the passenger side and opened the door before picking Mac back up and placing him gingerly into the cab of the truck. As Jack stretched the seatbelt across his friends chest, Mac grabbed it from him and latched the buckle himself. "My arms work just fine, Jack." Jack couldn't help but smile at that sassy smirk as he shut the truck door and grabbed their duffels and a blanket from the tent before hopping back in the cab. 

Jack pulled off his tac vest and fished the sat phone from under the seat, powering it on as he threw the truck into gear to navigate his way back to civilization.

Dialing the Phoenix, he tried to plan his greeting; it needed to fall between yelling "We're coming in hot!" and "hey, how's the weather?"

Matty: Jack, have you got some news for us...finally?

Jack: Kinda ...

Matty: Spill it!

Jack: Mac's been shot.

Riley: Is he ok?

Jack: On a scale of dead to awesome, he's at about a 4.

Matty: That doesn't even make sense, Jack, use your words.

Mac (in the background yelling): I'm fine 

Jack: He's lying. He lost a lot of blood, spent a good half hour unconscious, and looks like he's going to keel over any minute. Can you find us a hospital near basecamp, Ri?

Riley: Tucker Memorial, about 35 minutes from you.

Jack: You know I don't like hospitals named after dead people. All that money donated, and they still died. How about a hospital named after a Catholic Saint or something?

Riley: Jack, saints are dead people too. Your superstition doesn't even make sense.

Jack: When do superstitions have to make sense?

(Frustrated silence)

Riley: Ok, actually Saint George's is 40 minutes in the opposite direction, but they have a very highly rated trauma center.

Jack: See, you should listen to ol' Jack more often. Now send us a Medevac and tell us where to rendezvous.

Mac: Jack, no. The truck is fine. I feel fine, just in pain.

Jack: Ok, but if you pass out again, I'm going to break traffic laws and the laws of physics getting you there. And I know how much you respect physics. 

Jack: Here (hands Mac phone) you tell them you're gonna play tough guy.

Jack pushed the navigation button on the truck's center console screen; frustrated when the touch screen controls were disabled while in gear. A female AI voice asked, "What's your destination?"

Jack spoke slowly and loudly, like older people do when they talk to voice recognition software. "Saint George's Hospital," enunciating every syllable. 

Mac turned the phone away from his mouth, "Jack, you can use your normal speaking voice; it understands human vocal inflection, like K.I.T.T."

"It's not that I don't think it understands me, I don't want it to recognize my voice, so when the robot uprising happens, they won't know who or where I am. And don't you ever use KITT's name in vain again. Does this look like a Trans Am? "

Mac rubbed his temples with his free hand, "Y'know, sometimes I think you say stupid things just to wind me up."

"Now you're catching on." Jack winked, "You love it, don't lie." 

Mac: (back to the phone) Jack's just being Jack. I'll see you guys soon.

Jack observed Mac's grey pallor and the way he swayed with the uneven terrain, "Hey,

why don't you lie down, brother?" He patted the seat next to his own lap, "you're not looking so good."

The younger man lowered himself to where he was lying on his back with his legs pressed against the door. He rolled to his side, then the other side, unable to find a suitable position.

Jack interrupted his wiggling,"You need more space, you're all folded up. Scoot this way." 

Eventually, Mac ended up with his twisted knee propped over the seatback, the other foot in the floorboard with his knee against the door, and his head in Jack's lap. He closed his eyes after finally finding a decently comfortable or really just a less painful position.

"No. No. There's no passing out allowed." Jack scolded.

"I'm fine! I just don't want to spend the next half hour staring at your armpit. It's bad enough I have to smell it."

"Well how am I supposed to know if you're conscious or playing possum? Sing me a song or recite the periodic table or something."

"I'll leave the singing to you." 

"No you won't, you hate my singing. Now start talking, boy. Number 1, Hydrogen, atomic mass one point zero zero something, the most abundant chemical in the universe."

"Jack. What the fuck? " Mac looked directly up at his best friend.

"You think I don't pay attention to what you do or say? I know how you deal with things. That's how I know you do it, and also how I know that Argon is a noble gas and the third-most abundant gas in our atmosphere."

MacGyver blinked repeatedly, dumbfounded. "I don't even know how to respond to that."

"I'm just showing off. That's all I really remembered." Pleased with himself, Jack ruffled Mac 's hair and rested his hand in the center of his best friend's chest; Mac placed his own on top of Jack's and closed his eyes. "Atomic Number 1, Hydrogen, atomic mass 1.00784, most abundant---"

"Do it backward," Jack challenged, sensing his friend should think more and talk less due to the way he was beginning to slur his words.

"No thanks. Wheels aren't turning as fast. Alphabetical I can probably do. But don't really want to."

"It's ok, buddy. Rest" Jack patted his chest lightly with Mac's hand still on top of his. Several quiet moments passed. 

"Dead females." Mac blurted out of nowhere. 

"What? What does that even mean?" 

"Your song theme earlier. Female singers from last century that died this century, but I don't think Bonnie Tyler is dead."

"That's a good guess, man. Not it though. Keep working on it." Jack was proud to see that even though his boy was silent, he was still thinking. He didn't fret the next few minutes of the quiet drive with the reassurance of the Mac's quick but steady heartbeat pounding under his palm.

"Jack," a beat, "I like when-" he was drowned out by the truck's female navigation voice

IN 300 FEET TURN RIGHT TO HEAD WEST ON ROUTE 78.

Mac cleared his throat and spoke with slightly increased volume, "I like when you sing sometimes. I don't always hate it."

"I'm not here for your deathbed confessions, son. Let's hold off on that."

"I'm sorry."

"There you go with that 'I'm sorry' shit again. You don't have to say it, you've got nothing to be sorry for."

"Maybe sometimes I take the ribbing a little too far. You don't deserve that. You've been nothing but-"

"Seriously, don't, Mac." 

"Ok. No more groveling. But I mean it, I actually do like when you sing that old 90s Seattle stuff. It suits your range, your voice. It's good. Don't tell anyone I told you. Riley likes when you take out the guitar on the porch and sing Stone Temple Pilots and Chris Cornell and stuff. She told me that when she was a kid you used to sing a lot of Tom Petty in the shower. Loudly. And she could hear it in her room, and for the longest time when she'd hear Tom Petty, she'd get so mad. But now it makes her happy."

Jack's eyes were feeling increasingly warm, a tear threatening to form. His voice wavered more than he'd expected, "You're rambling, son."

Mac gave a "hmmm" of acceptance and silenced his delirious rant. "Turn on the radio then," he mumbled.

"Sure thing." He pulled his right hand from beneath Mac's and reached for the radio, taken aback by the amount of dried blood that covered his hand and arm. He wanted to...needed to look away, look at the road, but he was fixated on the blood, Mac's blood, all over him. He closed his eyes for a second to try to reset and shake it off. As soon as notes sprouted from the speakers, he gently placed his hand back on Mac's chest, grounding them both. 

Jack toggled through the channels with the stereo controls on the steering wheel until he found a good old Alternative Rock channel. Jack leaned toward classic rock as his go-to music choice, but Mac's revelation brought a new fondness for the grunge he mostly left behind in his 20s. It made for easy acoustic campfire jams in his youth, but Jack hadn't known his kids noticed or appreciated his fire pit noodling. 

They continued for miles without talking, Jack occasionally glancing at the new bandage to make sure the bleeding was still under control and asking, "you still with me, bud?" to which Mac responded weakly, "yeah, thanks."

The familiar acoustic G chord from the STP's Plush intro came through the speaker, eliciting smiles from both men. Jack sang along quietly under his breath,"And I feel that time's a wasted go, so where you going to tomorrow? And I see that these are lies to come, would you even care?"

Mac tapped along with the beat on top of Jack's hand that still rested on his chest. 

Jack increased his volume and clarity with each line. "And I feel it, and I feel it"

He may have even felt the tiniest hum reverberating in Mac's chest. Of all the things they'd shared in their riveting history, music wasn't one of them. Mac was definitely not a singer, and it's not that he disliked music, he just never showed any preference or interest in anything in particular. Jack was very grateful to have this moment, even if he was sure Mac would deny it or blame the blood loss if Jack ever mentioned it. 

Jack's EVOC training paid off, with both the car insurance discount and the ability to hightail it out of there and to the hospital in a minimal amount of time. Jack had to stop measuring time in minutes, they took too long. Every time he looked at the clock, only a minute had ticked by, sometimes he felt like the clock had gone backwards. He started to measure time in songs. The drive to the hospital would be about 10 songs long with Jack driving. Or a Rappers Delight, a Bohemian Rhapsody, and a live version of Freebird blaring the extended guitar solo as he pulled into the ER driveway on 2 wheels. Unfortunately Jack wasn't playing DJ in the car, so his 10 random song count would have to do. Thankfully that acoustic version of Plush was a long one because the Nirvana song that played after it felt so short. Three more songs till the hospital. 

"You still with me, bud?" 

No answer. His hand hadn't moved from it's comforting spot in the middle of Mac's chest, that heartbeat was still there, but Jack wasn't happy about the silence. 

"Hey, you with me?" He gave Mac a little jostle. Reluctantly he removed his hand from beneath Mac's, the combined sweat and blood tackiness was apparently holding them together because Mac's arm flopped into the floorboard with no resistance. Jack's stomach dropped and he felt dizzy for a moment, but he kept his eyes darting between the road and his partner as he tapped Mac's cheek. After no reaction, Jack rubbed his sternum gently at first, but went to knuckles when the boy still didn't stir. 

"Dammit, Mac! Talk to me." Jack failed to hide the panic in his voice.

He wanted to blow through the upcoming red light, but there were too many cars in the intersection to do so safely. He hooked his right arm under Mac's armpits and hefted him into a seated position. Mac's head flopped forward and then against the seat back as Jack punched the accelerator, his worry manifesting itself as anger and frustration. He observed Mac's lax face in the rear view mirror, and his breath hitched in his throat before checking the navigation screen one last time for that ETA. 

"Five more minutes, buddy. Just come back to me a few more minutes. I can't see you like this. We'll get you all fixed up in a few minutes, just hang on a little longer." Thankfully the time estimate was accounting for heavier traffic; Jack could see the illuminated hospital sign and drove up the sidewalk to cut through the greenery, holding tightly to his partner for the bumpy ride. 

Sliding into the ER driveway and slamming it into park, Jack kicked the truck door open and slid Mac across the seat into his lap. Not bothering to even turn off the engine, he scooped Mac into his arms and ran through the sliding glass doors to the triage desk. Upon seeing the gangly blonde Jack was clutching to his chest, a stocky tattooed woman in pink scrubs disappeared behind a door and returned immediately with a gurney. Jack lowered him gently onto it and brushed blonde bangs from his forehead. Cupping Mac's cheek in his hand, Jack chanted reassurances to his brother that they were safe and everything was going to be alright, but he was mostly trying to convince himself. He grabbed Mac's hand as they started to relocate out of the waiting area, through doors as people buzzed around and began attaching blood pressure cuff, pulse oximeter, electrodes. 

A nurse in lavender with a protruding pregnant belly asked about their "hunting accident" and if Mac had any health problems or allergies. She blocked Jack's way with her body as Mac was whisked away through more sets of doors. 

She made a show of looking Jack up and down, noting that he was pale and sweaty, "Are you hurt? That's a lot of blood."

"All his." He looked down at his arms and clothes and forgot how to breathe. His feet were suddenly nailed to the floor and the walls felt like they pushed out a mile. He felt like he was standing alone in the middle of a football stadium, the only person left on the planet. His ears throbbed with his own pulse, everything sounding muffled as if he were under water. She touched his non-bloody shoulder to get his attention back. 

"Are you his father?" he gave a slight nod, not really wanting to explain to a stranger that despite the existence of Mac's father, Jack was the one with a say about his care. "I've got some paperwork and some more questions. You need to move your truck, and I'll make sure to keep you updated. My name is Daphne." She pointed to her name plate knowing that Jack was so keyed up that he never even saw her face, much less put it to memory. "Like in Scooby Doo." 

She took him by the arm and he walked with her in a daze back out to the truck. "I'll be over there when you come back. Paperwork. But if you wanna clean up first...yeah, let's do that. When you come back, the restroom is over there, then come see me, sweetheart. Ok?" He acknowledged her with another half assed nod and climbed into the truck. 

He found a remote parking spot far from any other vehicles. Looking again at the blood that covered his shirt and shorts, he could not stand to be in them anymore. He ripped his shirt off and gasped at the pain that movement caused, he was going to be sore for a long time, but he felt like he deserved it. Had he shot that guy in the head, he wouldn't have had the opportunity to get the shot off that hit Mac. None of this would have happened. They'd be hanging out in the tent, listening to the sounds of the bird noises transitioning to bug noises near dusk. Dalton roared with rage and pounded his fists repeatedly on the bench seat in the truck until he wore himself out; the movements straining his already aching back. Shoving the door open with his leg, he leaned over and vomited onto the ground. Jack cracked the lid off of a water bottle and swished some around in his mouth before forcefully projecting it out onto the pavement. 

He grabbed a shirt out of his duffel and slid it on, then grabbed another shirt and doused it water to try to scrub the blood off of his arms. He'd been in the situation enough to know that soap and water wasn't as effective at removing blood as something solid and abrasive. Excessive scrubbing and rinsing left a reddish puddle in the parking lot next to the truck, but Jack's hands were slightly cleaner looking. He grabbed the sat phone and Mac's canvas messenger bag and headed back inside to check in for the obligatory paperwork. As soon as he had any update at all, he'd call the Phoenix, but for now he didn't have the energy, and he was sure they were already enroute. 

Daphne handed him a clipboard with 5 pages of information and consent forms. His hand shook holding the pen, "I can fill them out for you, but we'd have to go in one of the rooms, HIPPA and all." She offered.

"Nah, I got it. Thank you." He retreated to a corner where he filled in Mac's personal information. Information he knew by heart from filling these out numerous times. He couldn't tell you his own license number at that second, but he knew Mac's social, license number, blood type, family and personal history, everything. He signed the consent to treat as the patient's representative and had to take a break. The blood under his fingernails and dried in his cuticles was taunting him, he was going to have to pick and scrub that out soon. 

Jack couldn't remember the last time he used the bathroom, so he placed the clipboard and messenger bag in the chair next to him and made eye contact with Daphne to let her know he was still working on it and would be right back. Leaning with one hand against the wall, Jack relieved himself at the urinal. He felt an increasingly painful pull in his abdomen as he neared finishing that resulted in an involuntary moan. Looking down to prepare to shake off and tuck back in he saw blood in the urinal then the blood in his stream. A wave of dizziness hit him again, but this time he couldn't fight the blackness that encroached on his vision, and Jack fell backward onto the bathroom floor. 

Daphne periodically glanced at the bloody canvas bag and clipboard in the chair, feeling a sense of obligation to babysit his belongings after acknowledging that she knew he was leaving them there. Sensing that he was digging the blood out of his fingernails, she grabbed an orange wood stick out of her bag to help him with his task. She was rehearsing her speech for him about keeping a manicure kit in her bag because the pregnancy was making them grow out of control, not because she likes to give herself manicures on the clock. Knocking on the door she pressed the spring hinged door open slightly to talk through the crack, "sir, I have this thing you can use to help clean your nails. A-and some moisturizer, the soap here will dry you out." He didn't answer. "Sir? Are you ok in there?" She knocked again, waited a moment, and announced, "Sir, I'm coming in," as she pushed the door open further. 

The distressed dad with the full graying beard was out cold on the bathroom floor. She smashed the emergency call button on the wall as she closed the distance between them and squatted next to him. She felt for a pulse, and noted it was quick; she rubbed his sternum with her knuckles. He groaned and clenched his fists, not quite lucid yet. Daphne looked around the room for clues regarding this man's current state, maybe heroin supplies, a pill bottle, or something else that may compromise her safety. She noted the undone pants and spotted the blood in the urinal. Settling to her knees, she lifted his shirt to check for more signs of injury. Two more medical professionals entered as he opened his eyes at the intrusion. 

He attempted to lift up on his elbows, but was stopped by several hands.

"Sir, please stay down." He wasn't sure where the voice was coming from, blinded by the fluorescent lights flickering from the ceiling, but he no longer had the energy to protest. He felt a backboard slide beneath him.

"What the hell? I wasn't in a car wreck." Jack argued.

"It's a precaution; we have to make sure you didn't hurt yourself when you fell." Daphne's voice soothed.

"It's because I'm old, isn't it? You wouldn't do this if I was 20." Jack grumbled as restraints were tightened. "Hey, no! Don't" he struggled against the straps holding him down, panting and beginning to panic. "I gotta check on my boy."

"They're gonna take you over to CT real quick, to make sure you're all good, and when you're done, I'm sure I'll have some news about your son."

Jack growled in frustration and arched his back in protest, fighting his well meaning captors. The lightning bolt of pain through his flank at the movement made him see stars and took his breath away. He screamed an uncharacteristic yelp before deflating, unconscious on the backboard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title reference:  
When the Levee Breaks - Led Zeppelin 1971
> 
> Songs mentioned:  
Plush - Stone Temple Pilots 1992  
Rapper's Delight - Sugar Hill Gang 1980 (run time 14:35)  
Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen 1975 (run time 5:55)  
Freebird - Lynyrd Skynyrd 1973 (live versions can run 14 minutes)  
Sliver - Nirvana 1990 (run time 2:16 song not mentioned outright, but this is the implied short song)


	4. Doom and Gloom

Riley was texting back and forth to Matty on her phone, trying to get all of Jack's personal information for the forms she was filling out when Mac started to stir. She put down her things and placed Mac's hand between hers, hoping he was starting to wake up. He looked terrible, his skin was grayish with dark circles under his eyes. The bullet had been removed and the hole packed, the other knee x-rayed and wrapped, and he was still receiving new blood via transfusion. He turned his head toward where Riley was sitting and grimaced. She was glad to see more signs of awareness, but wished he wasn't in pain. "Hey, Mac." She put on the biggest smile to greet him as he opened his eyes.

"Riley, what are you doing here?" His voice was extra deep. Scratchy, tired. 

"I came to see you, silly. I thought that was implied earlier on the phone. Of course I'm here."

He looked to the other side of the otherwise empty room, "Where's Jack?" he inquired as he tried to use his elbows to raise himself into more of a sitting position; it made the room spin. Riley was about to suggest that he rest, but she knew it was a waste of her breath, so she pressed the button to raise the head of the bed and fluffed the pillows behind him. 

Noticing that she dodged the question, he asked more sternly, "Riley. Where is Jack?" Mac could think of no reasonable explanation as to why there was not a Jack in the other chair. Jack was fine, he carried Mac through the woods and drove him there. Did he Hulk-rage out on someone that tried to keep them apart and get kicked out? It wouldn't be the first time. Did he abandon him after realizing how mean Mac was to him? Did he crash the truck on the way there? That's the only reasonable explanation. Jack crashed truck and died, but why was Mac (reasonably) ok? His throat felt like it was closing up, he gripped the waffle textured blanket in his fist, trying to ward off the panic. Jack was always there no matter what, whether it was by his side or equally as damaged in another bed 5 feet away, he was supposed to be there. He needed to calm down. Maybe, just maybe, he was having one of those post fight or flight shits he'd bragged about earlier, but why wouldn't Riley have just said that? His heart started racing, the beeping behind him giving it away.

"Mac." She interrupted his spiraling, placing her hands around his again which seemed to have the opposite effect as her eyes were drawn to the machine behind him, heart rate increasing. 

"Riley, talk. If you don't tell me, I'm gonna assume he's dead and you're just trying to protect me." 

There were 2 taps on the door and a heavy set nurse with shoulder length brown hair popped her head into the room. Riley was relieved to have the tension broken. "Hey, I'm here to check on your incision." She stated quietly with a shy smile, a subtle apology for interrupting them.

The nurse approached the bed and grabbed the sheet covering Mac from the waist down, making eye contact as an acknowledgment that she was about to make him uncomfortable, folding the sheet into an L shape as to only expose the wounded leg. The bruising and swelling were harsh, and Riley had not seen the extent of it until now. The nurse gently wiggled the pillow out from under his knee, and he gripped the bed rails at the movement as she tried to get a better look at it. Satisfied, she slipped the pillow back under his knee and pulled the sheet back into place with one smooth motion. "I have to change the dressing on this, and I'll bring you some ice for the other knee when I come back. How's your pain level?"

"Seven." He croaked out without hesitation, which was strange for Mac seeing as he refuses to admit he's in pain much less quantify it so high on a scale.

"I'll bring you something for that too." She called out as she disappeared out the door.

Mac let go of the rails and tried to slow his breathing as he attempted to relax back into the bed knowing Riley won’t tell him anything if she thinks he’s on edge at all. 

“Riley,” he tried to sound strong and calm, “please tell me where Jack went.” He patted himself on the back for his choice of words, not emotionally charged or negative at all while his mind went straight to doom and gloom. 

“Was Jack in a fight or anything?” she asked Mac, searching for some explanation as to why Jack was in the condition he was, “or shot?”

“No,” he hesitated and shook the cobwebs from his head, “but he did take 2 to the back of the vest. Loud. Large calibre. Knocked the wind out of him.”

“That makes more sense now. When y’all got here, apparently he passed out. They took him to get scanned, to make sure he didn’t break anything or bump his head too hard, and found a slow bleed in his kidney. Didn’t get a story out of him because his blood pressure had bottomed out; he was out cold. That was about when I showed up, signed some consent forms for surgery, and that was 3 hours ago.” Mac tensed up waiting for her to continue. “Oh and to keep our stories straight, he’s dad. We’re brother and sister. K?” 

“We don’t even look…” he realized her attempt at subterfuge, “don’t change the subject. And you haven’t heard anything else?” 

“Mac. Stop. I haven’t heard anything, and I’m trying real hard not to freak out right now, and you’re not helping. You being ok and talking to me right now is the only reason I’m not a mess over there in the corner. So please don’t get worked up. I can’t...I can’t...be…” she looked at him for approval to hug, and he opened his arms and wrapped them around her back as she buried her face in his neck.

"I'm so glad you're ok. When Jack said on the phone that you'd been shot…" Riley's voice wavered and he let go of her.

"But I'm ok now, Riles. In one piece. See?" He made a show of putting his arms all the way out to demonstrate he was still good ol’ Mac, but he was exhausted. He was quite thankful for the next nurse interruption. 

The blue clad brunette nurse had returned with a basket full of unpleasant goodies for him. Cracking and shaking the cold pack, she placed that under his sheet on his right knee first. Generally, Mac wasn’t a fan of pain meds, especially those that hinder your mental acuity and senses, but he was grateful when she pulled out the syringe, first scanning the QR code on his hospital bracelet, and then the barcode on the syringe. He was secondly grateful that she did this BEFORE repacking his wound, but after asking him to roll over to his belly. Riley held his hand, like a good sister, as Mac cringed at the feeling of someone shoving foreign objects into a hole in his flesh and completely obliterating his modesty. He made a foggy mental note to ask Riley to find some underwear for him. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as earlier, but it was still unpleasant and more embarrassing than anything with his glaringly white ass on display for the other two people in the room. 

While this particular hospital staff member probably had little to nothing to do with Jack’s care, Mac was itching to ask her if she had any updates or information at all. Maybe she could find out for him. She helped him get back to his back and raised the head of the bed back into a reclined sitting position before packing up the pile of trash and pulling off her gloves. “Just holler when you get hungry, you can have Jello or chicken broth when you feel up to it. I’m Beth, by the way.” She pointed to the dry erase board where she’d written her name in green hours ago, before Mac was lucid. “Do you need anything else right now?” She could see the question on his lips and knew it was coming anyway.

“Can you tell me how…” he was quite groggy now and wasn’t confident that that was his own voice making those words, “how my dad is doing?” his inflection at the word dad had him questioning his own words again. They were brothers, what is he saying dad for? Oh yea, cover story. Had he asked the question or thought he’d asked the question. It was definitely time for a nap. Stupid drugs.

“I believe they’ll be finishing up in surgery any minute now. Once we get him settled into a double room, we’ll move you over there as well. Your sister insisted that we get you two together as soon as possible.” 

Riley blushed, “thank you for your help. And um, how long is he gonna take to nap this off?” she pointed at the spot where the nurse had injected the drugs into the IV. “I don’t wanna leave him alone if he’s gonna wake up in a few minutes and try to track down our dad. He’ll blind everyone with that pale white rear end.”

The nurse snickered at Mac’s middle finger slowly being raised in front of Riley’s face. “He seems to be fighting it real hard, I’d give him two to four hours tops.” 

“Thanks, ma’am. I appreciate everything you’ve done for us.” Riley was sincere then ruffled Mac's hair for good measure hoping to earn his adorable scowl to show off for the nurse who seemed amused by their sibling antics. 

Mac dozed off shortly after settling back into the bed, letting himself sink into the thin mattress. Riley covered him up to his neck with an extra blanket to keep him cozy and warm as she snuck out to take care of a few things. She returned 90 minutes later with a gallon carton of coffee; Mac hadn't moved a bit, it wasn't as if he could find another remotely comfortable position with both of his legs injured. 

Riley hoped to start their relationship with the staff here on a good note with the offering of a gallon of fancy coffee shop brew; she knew her boys were quite possibly two of the most stubborn patients imaginable. 

With a light tap at the door, Beth stepped in quietly and was immediately greeted by Riley, "Hiiii, Beth," Riley laid on the charm, "would you like some coffee? I brought lots of different flavored creamers." She gestured to the coffee goods on the table. 

"I appreciate you buttering me up, that's real sweet, but not necessary." 

"Oh it's completely necessary," she muttered, "you just don't know it yet."

Beth smiled and replied, "well not necessary for me anyway, y'all are moving to another room in the next half hour or so, different nurses. Ms. Lula and Derrick are going to love it though. Thank you."

"You've been wonderful, so thank you." Riley praised as Beth approached Mac's bed.

"Mister MacGyver," she tried to get his attention, but he was sleeping hard. Riley gave it a try, placing her hand gently on Mac's shoulder. 

"Hey Mac," Riley gave his shoulder a squeeze, "this nice nurse is here to check up on you again."

"Mmmhm," Mac groaned and turned his head away from Riley as she pulled the extra blanket off and balled it up in the hard plastic chair behind her. 

Beth checked his vitals and peered at the wound on Mac's leg again, satisfied with the appearance, she drew blood from the IV on the back of his hand. He barely stirred until she placed a fresh cold pack on his other knee, a stark contrast to the warm cocoon he'd been swaddled in for his nap. He gasped and swatted it off his knee, exponentially more alert that seconds before. Panting and on the verge of panic, Mac sat straight up and into a defensive pose with his arms. 

"It's ok, Mac," Riley told him, placing the heel of her palm on his cheek with her fingertips rubbing the hair on the back of his head. "You're safe." He turned toward her hand and her voice. "I'm here. It's ok."

"Jack?" Mac's one word implied about a dozen questions Riley didn't have answers for yet.

"We'll see him soon." She swiped her thumb under his eye, hoping to stave off the tears and panic he threatened to spill. 

He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, steeling himself. Mac exhaled slowly and opened his eyes with a nod to signify to Riley that he had settled. He turned his head toward Riley and flashed her a lopsided apologetic smile. 

Mac was even more embarrassed when he hung his head in shame and noticed that his lower half was no longer obscured by the sheet. "Sorry," he blushed and pulled at the sheet. He deflated back into the reclined bed, exhausted from that 60 seconds of exertion and alarm. Mac's stomach made a loud gurgle, and his blush deepened. 

"Are you ready to enter the exciting culinary world of clear liquids?" Beth asked him. Her enthusiastic sarcasm made him grin. 

"No." With a slight shake of his head, "I don't even think I could stomach that right now. Thank you though."

"When was the last time you ate anything?" 

"I don't know. What day is it?"

"Well that tells me everything I need to know. How about I send you something hot and something cold? You can try them both. If you wait long enough, they'll both be room temperature." 

Riley chimed in, "He'll take them both, thanks. Mac gets a little excited talking about thermodynamics, so I'm gonna stop him before he even starts. I'll make sure he eats something."

Beth collected her gear and headed toward the door, "Someone will be in shortly to move you to your dad's room. Do you want these lights on or off?”

"On is fine, thanks again."

Once they were alone, Mac cornered her again with questioning. He wasn't terribly animated or angry, clearly frustrated and still groggy. "Riley, have you heard anything about Jack at all? Did you talk to anyone while I was sleeping? How long was I out?"

"Nothing, no, and about 2 hours. I got coffee and went to find you some underwear. I thought I'd be funny and get you some little Spider-Man Underoos or something to lighten the mood and embarrass the shit out of you, but with people monitoring your blood pressure and heart rate constantly, it wouldn't have been smart. I did make contact with the team Phoenix sent to recover all the equipment you destroyed, and they are going to bring me your personal items that they found at the basecamp and the stakeout site." 

Mac ran both hands through his unwashed hair, getting upset by the IV tubing following his movements. He was seconds away from ripping it out in frustration, but knew that would only earn him another one. Feeling absolutely defeated and helpless, Mac heaved out an angry grunt. "I don't know what to do. I fix problems, I don't like not having all the information and I especially hate not having a solution."

He was on the verge of tears, and she wasn't sure how to pull him back. 

She scrambled for something reassuring to say, "Ok, but there is a solution; it was just up to a surgeon to fix. And I'm guessing he did find his solution because we're going to see Jack soon."

"But what if his solution wasn't the right one? We don't know if Jack's really ok. You said his blood pressure bottomed out, were his organs failing? He carried me nearly 3 miles with a bleeding kidney, all that exertion," Mac's mind was reeling at the thought. Mac sounded like he was tipsy, like 4 beers in on an empty stomach, "his organs were failing and he never stopped for a second to take care of himself. What if he's dying? Why are they being so cooperative with letting us room together? It usually takes acts of aggression from Jack or threats from really important people to pull funding and donations to keep us together." Jack always said Four Beer Mac's logic was only slightly inhibited, but his extemporaneous ideas had no filter, and the downbeat thoughts exploded all over the place like a wet Mogwai, whatever that meant.

She took his hand, standing by the bedside. "Mac, stop it. If it was really bad, we would have already heard something. Plus I've been busting my ass brown nosing and buttering everyone up to get my way. Jack's not the only persuasive one here, and he always says you attract more flies with honey than vinegar. I'm using the honey route before he gets a chance to spray everyone with vinegar being his old ornery self when you're hurt." Mac smiled a little at that. "Plus the pregnant nurse in triage said I have my dad's eyebrows. I've seen him use those things to get his way a thousand times. Figured I'd give it a shot."

"But Elwood has big weird bushy…"

"Mac, are you forgetting our little ruse? Brother/sister." She gestured back and forth between them with her finger.

"But you and I look nothing alike."

"Maybe you're adopted." She mused. "You did refer to him as Jack in front of that nurse a few minutes ago. Yea, you're adopted. I've got dad's eyebrows." She cocked one eyebrow up mimicking a signature Dalton Blue Steel look that made Mac snicker.

"Ok, I concede. I'm adopted.” Mac leaned back in his bed again, trying to get comfortable, but he was an awful combination of exhausted and restless. He wanted to move, but was still feeling gross and out of sorts from the meds. He flexed his buttcheeks to get a feel for how in control he was of his body before thinking about attempting to sling his legs over the side of the bed. Even those felt weak and squishy, so he’d have to hold off on his ill conceived movement plan a little longer. A defeated sigh escaped as he sunk back into the bed looking out the mostly closed blinds at the moon outside. 

“Why don’t you try to get some rest, Mac.” she brushed his hair up from his forehead until it stayed in place on its own. He moaned in reluctant agreement and closed his eyes. 

With a tap at the door distinctly different than the one Beth had used to identify herself, a pair of scrub clad individuals entered to get the kids moved to the new room. Riley followed behind with hers and Mac’s belongings. The curtain on one side of the new room was pulled closed and the lights turned all the way down, but it was obvious that it was already occupied. 

Once Mac’s bed was parked and hooked back up to everything, they were left alone again. The light over Mac's bed was dimmed, and silence was unnerving, but it wasn’t exactly silent. There was a quiet steady beeping behind the curtain, but the hum of the hvac units outside and the general ambient noise of the hospital made the quiet much louder than the silent nights they’d had in the woods just the night before.

As eager as Riley had been to get to see Jack, she was too nervous to do it. She knew he was on the other side of that curtain, but wasn’t ready to look yet. She was afraid of what she’d see. Riley looked to Mac for reassurance to go on, and he gave her a nod. Grabbing the edge of the curtain with one hand, she hesitated for a moment before taking a breath and pulling the curtain back toward the foot of the bed. 

After she'd arrived at the hospital and heard about what was wrong, she’d looked into worst case and best case scenarios until she’d become sick with anxiety. She knew what to expect, but the sight made her stomach drop. The central line stitched into his neck was terrifying and had 3 tubes coming off of it. The only other thing marring Jack’s appearance was the nasal cannula, but he still didn’t look right. His skin was obviously pale, even in the darkness of the room. Jack’s beard was grown in thick and significantly gray; Riley’d not seen him with a full beard since she was a kid, and it was so dark brown and intimidating back then that she’d demanded he shave it off. 

Jack was always animated, even when relaxed; he just looked blank and Riley hated it. She couldn’t look at him, she just stared at a spot where the green gown met his collarbone, fixating on the fact that he was here, he was fine. 

She was missing the distracting laughter they usually had in medbay at the Phoenix. It frequently came along with Jack with his eye swollen shut bragging about getting 12 stitches in his scalp. She'd wished he'd stop coming home with concussions, but this wasn't quite what she had in mind. 

The blood pressure cuff engaging startled her; Mac noticed her flinch and took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. He couldn't let her fall apart just yet, Mac's head was still swimmy and they still hadn't heard from anyone about what was going on. She gave him a teary eyed smile and turned back to Jack, taking another step so that she was right up against the bed. 

Riley tentatively touched Jack's arm at the crook of his elbow and slowly traced her fingers down his arm to his palm. He was so warm, she wasn't sure why she expected any different, but it eased her mind slightly. Cracking an uneasy smile and biting one side of her bottom lip, her eyes tracked back up his arm to his face again. She snickered through tears and put her fingers in his hair from the front. It was flat, soft, and at least 2 finger widths long. "I can't even leave you two alone for 2 weeks without you reverting to unkempt cavemen." 

"We didn't have a lot of bathroom options." Mac apologized, but he wasn't quite sure why he felt the need to do it. 

"Even Bear Grylls wouldn't let his hair get this long surviving on a glacier while hiding from polar bears. Jack, you're looking like a dirty hippie." She'd hoped her teasing and running her fingers through his hair would get some sort of reaction out of him; she'd seen him do it to Mac countless times, but Jack didn't stir a bit. 

Disappointed, she took his hand and held onto it wondering what to say next. Mac was trying not to nod off. Riley looked over to him, watching his head dip slightly to the side and snap back upright. Then he'd force his eyelids open as wide as he could and blink repeatedly until he nodded off again. While it was endearing and adorable, she had to tell him, "You're not doing anyone any favors by not sleeping. Go ahead and nap. I'm sure someone will be in soon to check on you and wake your cranky ass back up." Apparently that was all he needed to hear because he nuzzled his cheek into the pillow and fell asleep instantly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title reference:  
Doom and Gloom - The Rolling Stones 2012


	5. Wish You Were Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around, everyone! Your comments mean the world to us.  
Final chapter and epilogue tomorrow and/or Tuesday. 
> 
> More works in the works for this series from other anonymous TangoCharlie writers.

Riley didn't know what time it was, but she realized as she tried to tried to get comfortable in the hard plastic chair that she was worn out. She leaned against Jack's bed and ended up with her head pressed against his bicep. She zoned out for a bit until the blood pressure cuff activated and startled her out of her daze. Glancing at the offending machine, she noted the BP was 92/60, looked to the O2 saturation showing 95%, and she became anxious once again. A dark skinned nurse in her 60s with magnificent silver shoulder length curls snuck in quietly with a gangly redheaded kid in dark blue scrubs. 

The nurse whispered, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's ok. I wasn't sleeping." Riley replied, not bothering to whisper, but still hushed. 

"Well you should be, child. It's the middle of the night." She noted the chair Riley was sitting in and glanced around the rest of the room. "Derrick, go get one of those recliners from L&D." 

"Yes, Ms. Lula." He acknowledged as he slipped back out the door.

The lady in golden retriever printed scrubs pulled a purple Expo marker from her pocket and wrote her name on the dry erase board. Ms. Lula Mae.

With one smooth action she capped the marker and filled her hand with sanitizer foam from the dispenser on the wall. She approached Riley while coating her hands and snagging a pair of gloves from other wall. Her movements were like watching a ballet, practiced elegance.

Riley watched, mesmerised, as the older woman checked every monitor, bag, and line. Lula peeked under the blanket and checked the incision, finally filling a vial of blood from line at his neck. Riley's face paled at the sight, blood was no big deal anymore based on their career choices, but seeing it taken from a location so central felt intrusive and wrong. 

"You're looking kinda green, sweetheart. You ok?" A loose silver curl bounced at her temple as she spoke.

Caught off guard and hoping her staring wasn't noticed, Riley nodded apprehensively. "Just worried."

"No need to worry, your Papa Bear is gonna be just fine." Lula returned with a reassuring smile that made Riley feel somewhat more relieved. 

Riley debated launching into a barrage of questions for this nice nurse, but didn't want to be too annoying. "No one's told us anything yet, and all I see is this," she indicated to the various monitors, "and him not waking up."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize the doctor hadn't spoken to you yet. I'll make sure someone does soon." 

Derrick silently opened the door and propped it open to carry in a narrow green vinyl recliner. Ms. Lula worked her way between the beds where Riley was sitting, so Riley picked up the chair she was in and moved it back to the corner where she'd found it. 

The nurse lowered Jack's bed until it was flat and manipulated Jack's left arm and leg. Derrick was on the other side of the bed with a couple of pillows to help his partner roll Jack onto his side, facing the center of the room. Riley expected Jack to protest, but he still didn't react at all, limp limbs moved and posed into natural looking positions. Lula sensed her discomfort and addressed Riley without even looking in her direction as she moved, tucked, and adjusted everything to keep Jack comfortable. "I was told that when they were bringing your daddy out of anesthesia earlier, he was up on his side like this." She explained as wedged a pillow under Jack's right knee and placed his right hand next to it. "They were waking him up and he flat out refused. He growled. He growled like a bear and wrapped his arms and legs around a pillow like he was trying to protect it. So I wouldn't worry about your Papa Bear, he's sleeping it off. Hibernating." The older woman, tickled by her own analogy, looked to Riley for approval as she slid the blanket into place up to Jack's shoulder. 

Riley smiled, "Yep, that sounds about right. Thank you for that. I actually feel a lot better knowing that." 

"Brother getting some good rest?" Lula asked, tossing her gloves and grabbing a new pair as she cleaned her hands again. Derrick was behind her making a digital record of the vitals his partner had checked earlier. 

"Not really," Riley confessed, "he hates the drugs. He's like really smart, and he feels like they cloud things up; he gets agitated and can't relax." She looked at her brother's peacefully sleeping face, "But it seems to have gotten slightly better since we switched rooms."

The nurse pressed a button on Mac's blood pressure monitor, and it came to life with a rattle and hum. Mac didn't seem bothered until it squeezed his arm tightly. His grimace announced his awakening. 

"Hey there, sunshine." Ms. Lula greeted as Mac made eye contact with her. "I need to take a look at that leg." 

Mac glared toward the unknown male in the room. 

"Forgive my manners, I'm your nurse, Ms. Lula, and this is Derrick, my intern for the semester." The tall redhead silently acknowledged with a slight 2 finger wave as he continued pecking information into the tablet. "We'll be here if you need anything until sunup."

Mac gripped the bed rail and bent his knee to attempt to give her access. His face contorted in pain as he tried to lift it higher. He held his breath and allowed her to help by supporting under his knee with her hand. After a quick inspection, she eased his leg back down; he exhaled and released his grip. She uncovered the other knee and gently pressed the swollen skin above it. "How's this one doing?" 

"Better." He lied and received an inquisitive eyebrow raise from the nurse. "Better by comparison." He corrected and looked down shamefully from being called out on his lie. 

"Honey, you can tell me the truth. What's your pain level?" 

"Right now? Probably a 6, I can tell it's wearing off." He confessed. 

"How about just some ibuprofen this time instead?"

"That sounds good. Thank you."

"But you still need to rest. If it doesn't make enough of a difference, tell me. I can't have you sitting here hurting if you don't have to."

"Yes ma'am."

"She's gonna hold you to it too." Ms. Lula motioned toward Riley who nodded in agreement. "Miss Beth said you needed to eat." Lula continued as she covered Mac's legs and tried to get him more comfortable. "You want this lowered a little?" She motioned to the button to adjust the bed. 

"No. I wanna get up. Getting antsy." 

"How about we change the view? Let's not be too hasty about scooting around, especially if you haven't eaten." She explained as she pulled the pillows from behind his back and lowered the bed. "You wanna try lying on your belly for a little bit?"

"Ok."

After a bit of repositioning, a dose of ibuprofen in his IV, and some more strategically placed pillows, Mac was as comfortable as he was going to get. 

With the green recliner situated between the two beds, Riley stretched out in the chair and tried to rest a little as well; their very accommodating care team made sure of it, and Riley thanked them with her large box of coffee. 

The sun wasn't even up yet, but there were birds chirping annoyingly in the otherwise empty courtyard outside their window. They hopped around scavenging for crumbs left by employees and visitors satisfying oral fixations with vending machine snacks when they couldn't smoke on the hospital campus. Mac would have given anything for a flashbang to throw out there to scare them off. 

He had managed to fall asleep briefly, his hands under the pillow, lying on his stomach, like a toddler at naptime. He woke up cranky like a toddler as well, at least Jack would have said so had he been awake. Riley was snoring, almost inaudibly, with her head propped up on her fist in the recliner. Mac closed his eyes and tried to focus on any other sound that wasn't the birds. He couldn't remember being this irrationally ornery since...the day before at the stakeout. He was definitely not having a good day, the start of now the 11th day of the most useless mission to date.

He covered his head with the pillow to try to muffle the noises around him, but it didn't help. He couldn't believe he was going stir crazy again, only worse now because he couldn't even move. He looked for a loose string on the pillowcase to pull and unravel for a while, until the pillow slipped from his grasp dropped to the floor. Couldn't watch tv because he couldn't actually look at it from that position. Had no idea where his damn phone was, at least if he had that he could read something or distract himself with some of those mindless games he saw Jack and Bozer tapping at sometimes; they had some pretty fierce competition going with each other. Mac had been curious because some amount of strategy was involved after all, and they were cutthroat competitors when it came to each other. 

He grabbed the tv remote nestled in a plastic holder on the side of his bed rail and rose up to his elbows. Mac pulled out the batteries and separated the two plastic halves of the remote. He fiddled with the parts inside and moved the components around to make the buttons not correspond with the desired commands. He snapped it back together and replaced the batteries. He managed to distract himself for 2 whole minutes with harmless mischief and was bored yet again. 

Mac plopped his forehead onto his arms folded above his head and sighed out loud in defeat.

He heard a deep groan from the other side of the room and Mac popped his head up like a whack-a-mole. "Jack?"

"Huh?" Riley woke up and looked to Mac as he nodded toward his partner in the other bed. She closed the chair's footrest and was immediately by Jack's side. "Jack, are you with us?" She asked quietly as she sweetly and gently placed her hand on his arm with a light squeeze. He was still on his side facing them so she turned turned the lights up slightly with a button on Jack's bed so he could see them. Jack groaned again squeezing his eyes shut tighter. 

Riley scrambled to turn the lights back down as Jack pressed his face into the pillow and moaned. 

"Sorry. Sorry, Jack." She apologized and rubbed his back between his shoulders to let him know she was still there.

Jack extended his legs out in a stretch, pulling in a deep breath, a few joints popping loudly with the movement. With a moaning exhale, he wrapped his arms around the pillow near his stomach and curled himself up around it. 

"Oh my God, Jack, that was adorable." Riley cooed. "Now wake up and talk to us." The gown had slid down and off his shoulder, so she slipped it back up and put the nasal cannula back into place. She looked to Mac who was still perched up on his elbows, and she shook her head, "not yet, I guess. Sorry, Mac."

Mac crossed his forearms and placed his forehead back down on them, closing his eyes, certain that sleep wasn't coming back anytime soon. The combination of pain, exhaustion, and cabin fever had him so on edge. He finally felt rid of the drugs clouding him up, but he had nowhere to go and nothing to do and was spinning out in his own head. He thought about equations and formulas and gears and circuits, anything that would keep him occupied, but everything always circled back quickly to the fact that he was stuck in one spot. Finding a set of muscles he could move without sending fierce pain to his knee or thigh was difficult, but he managed to find a way to drum his big toes on the bed. Right left right left right left, the movement helped. Maybe a pattern would make it better. 1 2 1 2 1 222 2 1 2 1 2 111. He added in his thumbs in for good measure. The pattern felt familiar, like a drum beat he already knew. Drums. Music. Phone! 

"Riley, can you find Jack's keys? I think my bag is in the truck. I need something to keep busy. I may be feeling a little stir crazy."

Riley returned with a deadpan, "no shit. But I thought you left all your stuff in the woods."

"We'd locked our phones in the truck the whole time because they didn't work out there, and I think Jack grabbed a bag or two on the way out. Plus I think my messenger bag is somewhere in the truck. I'm sure we have something useful in there. Worst case, bring the user's manual for the truck to read, it's better than nothing."

Riley looked out the window at the orange horizon where the sun threatened to peek out over the buildings. "I'm surprised you lasted this long." 

She found the bag of Jack's belongings, opened it and shoved it away upon seeing the contents. "Jesus, Mac, how the hell am I supposed to sift through this? It's covered in blood. Your blood."

"Gloves?" He suggested as if this were something he dealt with all the time because it kind of was. 

"Ok maybe this is like a normal thing for you, but I am extremely uncomfortable right now." She paused to steel herself and tentatively pulled the plastic bag back toward her. Riley grabbed a pair of gloves and dove into the bag with the most terrified look on her face. Pulling out the cut up cargo shorts by a belt loop, she joked, "I know it's inappropriate to say right now, but if something good came out of this, it's that these awful dad shorts will finally be thrown into a clinical waste incinerator somewhere."

"Just don't tell Jack. He may ask for the cremated remains and an urn for them."

"Maybe we can replace them with a similar pair like parents do when your carnival goldfish dies 2 days later so you won't notice." She pondered out loud, "wait, that's a terrible idea. I hate these stupid shorts." She retrieved the truck key from a pocket, "Got it!"

She cinched the bag closed, hiding the gory contents and discarded the gloves. "I'll see what I can find for you in the truck. I'll be back in a minute."

"You should probably eat something, Riles, get some fresh air, you don't have to be cooped up in here just because we are." 

"Of course I do, I want to. I want to be here for you. With you." She looked at him with a look of offense that he'd even suggest she didn't need to be there for her family. "But I will grab some breakfast for myself as long as you promise you'll eat when they bring you food." 

"Deal."

With their verbal agreement in place, Riley set out for sustenance and entertainment. She searched the parking lot for a sizeable red pickup truck and pressed the key fob repeatedly to confirm she was walking toward the correct one. Her stomach lurched at the dried puddles of water, blood, and vomit outside of the truck. The inside was no better with the seat completely saturated and several things strewn about in haste and panic. She located their phones locked in the glove box and some clothes for Mac from a duffle in the back seat. 

Mac remained on his stomach with his head resting on his arms, primary school style, watching Jack sleep. He couldn't shake the awful guilt he felt for making Jack carry him for miles while his kidney bled. Of course he didn't make Jack do it, on the contrary, had he not submitted to being carried, Jack might have knocked him out and done it anyway. They were two stubborn sonsabitches, it was a miracle they made it as far as they did without fighting. 

Mac thought Riley had returned too quickly to have gotten herself some food and was about to express his disapproval when a doctor entered the room. 

"I hope I didn't wake you." The doctor apologized. He was maybe 40 years old, in a canary yellow button up shirt and a white coat, his dark brown hair wavy and tall with a mind of its own. 

"No, I'm up." Mac tried to turn his head toward the door where the man had entered, but it was quite difficult to have a conversation from his position on his stomach. Mac held his breath and used all of his upper body strength to flip over to his back. He grunted in pain as stars danced in front of his eyes for a moment, but it was the most satisfying bit of autonomy he'd had in a day. Worth it. 

"Next time, let us help you with that." The doctor scolded. 

"I'm good." Mac lied. His bullet wound was throbbing so much that he could feel it in his ears. He also felt a seeping wetness from the site after the movement, but he was sure someone would be changing the dressing soon anyway, no need to mention it. He adjusted the head of his bed into a sitting position.

"The next rotation is coming on, so I wanted to make sure you were briefed on your father's condition before I left." Mac nodded for him to continue, deliberating for a moment to ask to wait for Riley, but he couldn't hold out any longer. 

"His blood pressure tanked, causing loss of consciousness resulting in a fall. We took him to CT to check for injury and found the kidney bleed. Blood tests also indicated lactic acidosis, so we were looking at possible organ failure. Thankfully, it wasn't, but it was a pretty close call. We were prepared to take the kidney, but were able to fix the bleed and pushed lots of fluids. The overexertion and kidney damage- it was a perfect storm that looked terrible and could have easily gone the other way, but luckily he was here when he went down, he's in overall great health, and apparently very resilient."

"Stubborn." Mac corrected with a shy grin. "He's extremely stubborn."

The doctor chuckled at Mac's description, "He should be fine after a good bit of rest barring no further complications." 

"Complications?"

"Nothing expected, but we're keeping an eye on BP, oxygen saturation, and output." He motioned to the bag hanging off the side of the bed and its red tinged contents. "All of it should improve with time and rest." He hesitated, choosing his next words carefully, "And pardon the presumptuous accusation, but I don't think traumatic injury is unusual for either of you." He sat on the arm of the green recliner facing Mac.

Mac's eyes widened and nostrils flared. Did this doctor think they were criminals, domestic abusers, terrorists? His mind was racing with how to cover this.

"Our policy is to involve local PD when someone comes in with a gunshot wound, but they were called off by a higher entity before they even got here. Yet we were assured that our safety was not compromised. I also think the impact that caused the kidney rupture and cracked rib wasn't from getting rammed by a wild animal, and more likely from large caliber bullets stopped by kevlar. Not to mention all the scars."

Mac returned with a shameful and guilt ridden smirk.

"Don't worry, everyone who figured it out is covering for you. If it were our business to know, we'd know, but we are problem solvers and couldn't ignore the pieces that didn't fit. The night shift is going off duty and day shift will only hear about the father and son that had a hunting incident." The doctor grinned and stood pointing at Mac's leg. Mac exposed his leg so the doctor could take a look at it. "I can tell you’re itching to get up and out of here, so I'll have someone suture that up this morning so you can try to get out of bed and to PT later."

"Thank you."

"Thank you for your service." They exchanged a fist bump and the doctor left. 

Mac looked over to his sleeping friend, "I'm glad you're ok, Jack. You really scared me, but I guess I never should have doubted your stubborn ass. I'm still not gonna be happy until you wake up and talk to me." He pondered a moment and exhaled audibly, "Now I see what you mean, it is frustrating." 

As if to acknowledge, Jack grunted and rolled to his back, flinging his left arm up and over his head. His back arched in a light stretch, cracked, and then relaxed nuzzling into his own shoulder and arm with a snort. Still hibernating. 

An unexpected wave of relief washed over Mac, followed by exhaustion. Taking a cue from his Papa Bear, Mac raised his elbow over the top of his head and relaxed into the crook of his arm and shoulder and fell asleep with a light snore. 

Riley returned about an hour and a half later. The boys had been presumably left alone for the most part except for the turned up blinds and pulled curtains blocking some of the sunshine. They were both sleeping like a mirror images of each other. She debated taking a picture to show them later, but decided against it. Riley worked diligently at her laptop in the corner of the room, keeping a watchful eye on her boys.

The daytime nurse entered shortly after, introducing herself as Tessa. She brought soup, Jell-O, and the news that someone would be by shortly to take Mac to have his leg sutured. She recorded Jack's stats, which had been refreshing on their own all night, but she knew taking Mac's BP would wake him. He wasn't as grumpy as Riley had expected him to be; then he told her that he'd spoken to the doctor earlier and received some peace of mind. 

"You need to eat something," Riley scolded, "we had a deal. I had breakfast and got stuff done. Now you eat." She pushed the food tray over across his lap and pulled the lid off the styrofoam bowl of broth presenting it in his face. "You want the spoon or you want to drink it straight from the bowl like the milk left after the cereal? Or lap it like a kitten?"

"I can feed myself, thanks." He took the bowl from her hand and the spoon from the tray and took a timid sip. Satisfied, Riley went back to her little nook and opened a large shoebox plastic tote. 

"Look what they found in the woods by your stakeout site." Riley pulled an ancient ipod touch from the box. "It's like first gen, it's so old. I had one like this in middle school. And I knew it had to be Jack's. How did I know? Because this monstrosity was attached to the charger." She pulled out a discarded fishing reel encased in duct tape with a USB outlet coming out of it. "This has to be your handiwork."

Mac almost spilled his soup laughing. "That damn thing wouldn't hold a charge more than 15 minutes, so I made a hand crank generator for Jack to keep it charging while we were at the stakeout site."

"Why won't he just buy a new one? He knows his music will port over to the next device no problem." Riley questioned. 

"He gets emotionally attached to inanimate objects. It's endearing." He put down his soup and spoon and looked over at Jack, still sleeping hard.

Riley smiled fondly at the old device as she went for the electrical outlet. "I'll charge it with actual civilized AC power, and maybe we can play some music. Encourage him to wake up, or at least have nice dreams." 

"I like that. Did you bring what I asked for?”

“Right. Your drawers. I’ll...umm...look away.” She tossed the clothing to him and it landed in his lap. Riley faced the corner. “I had to take your smelly clothes to the laundromat. I guess you hadn't intended to be in the woods that long because they were ripe and looked like they'd been worn several days. Your phones were in the glove box, but sitting for almost 2 weeks, they’ll need a charge soon. I brought an extra charger.” She talked, mostly to herself, trying to ignore the pained grunts and groans of Mac as he put his underwear on. "I picked up a robe at the store too. The ones for men were all fleece or terrycloth, and that stuff will catch on your...stuff," she gestured behind her back to his legs and IV, "and being the super extra thoughtful sister that I am, I got you a soft cotton one from the maternity section." He narrowed his eyes at her, and she sensed it, even though she wasn't looking in his direction. "But it's really nice! No flowers or lace, just solid blue, freshly washed, and I intend to keep it after this is all over." She put it on and spun around to show off how roomy it was and how there was an inner tie to secure it and a belt to hold it closed. It looked like something a dad on a 50s sitcom would wear to smoke his pipe in an armchair. 

By the time he was finished slowly and torturously inching his underwear on, he was panting heavily, as if he’d just run a marathon. He had tears in his eyes and held tightly to bed rails trying to focus his breathing before letting Riley help him slip the robe on. 

They were again interrupted by staff; this one pushing a wheelchair into the room. He hung Mac's IV bag from the hook on the back of the chair and helped him move less than gracefully to the chair, his pale goods and exposed back covered thanks to Riley's earlier errand. 

Riley followed them out toward the door, “can I push?” 

There was no sense in arguing with anyone in this family, so Mac gave a quick eyeroll and a sigh. He pretended he didn’t want an audience for getting stitches, but honestly, he was grateful for the company. 

The kids returned from suturing shortly thereafter to find their nurse hastily passing them in the hallway. Riley stopped short in front of Mac and the orderly, afraid of what they were about to walk into. “Something’s wrong, Mac.” She saw a second nurse enter the room. “Mac?” she was looking for some reassurance, but didn’t get any. 

“I don’t know what’s going on, Riley, he seemed fine when we left.”

Riley pushed through the door to check. Jack had managed to disconnect himself from a few monitors and got tangled up in the various lines and wires. He had apparently become agitated and rolled onto his stomach; his left arm and leg were dangling off the side of the bed. A nurse had tried to help him and was growled at by the now infamous Papa Bear. He was awake for none of it, but managed to fight off two other nurses before his kids showed up. It wasn't violent or harmful, but he wasn't letting anyone near without putting up resistance. 

Riley immediately grabbed his hand and held it between both of hers, "Jack, I'm here. Hey, you gotta settle down and let them help you. I shouldn't have left; I'm sorry we left you alone, but we're here now."

His breathing went from quick and shallow as if in a nightmare, to more relaxed with her reassurances. She nodded to the nurses that they were ok to move him now and she talked him through it. They got him untangled and settled back in without further incident. 

Mac asked to have a minute with Jack before getting a lift back into his own bed. He rested his hand on Jack's shoulder, their first physical contact since they'd arrived, and both men relaxed noticeably. 

"Jack, man, I'm here. I'm back. I'm not going to leave again until you wake up, I promise. I'll be right here. I'm kinda stuck here with you for the foreseeable future anyway. You know, if you lash out like that, you're not gonna get any nurses' phone numbers. I've been told by so many how they can't wait to meet you when you wake up. So come on, open your eyes, talk to me. I don't think you've ever gone this long without talking, not even in your sleep." Mac chuckled through the last sentence. 

Jack's quiet groan encouraged Mac to keep talking. 

"And when you wake up, you can sing bad karaoke, we even brought your ipod. I really miss you, big guy." 

Jack opened his eyes slowly, they were unfocused and staring straight ahead. With a few more blinks becoming progressively slower, they slipped closed again and stayed closed.

Mac gave his shoulder two encouraging squeezes, "good try. Now rest, and I'll be over there, three feet away, when you're ready to try again." Mac was helped back into bed and settled in. Riley hooked up Jack's ipod to a small speaker and let it play quietly in the background. 

She noticed Mac yawn and stretch his arms, sinking bonelessly into the pillows as he relaxed. He lowered the head of his bed into a reclined position and closed his eyes.

"You want me to turn this off so you can nap?" She asked.

"Nah, it won't bother me-probably not going to be able to sleep anyway." He yawned through half of his words. Riley disagreed wordlessly and focused her attention to her computer again. He was snoozing moments later.

The rest of the morning passed with constant interruptions every hour or so; Mac and Riley attentive to every noise or movement Jack made, but he didn't wake.

Mac's uneaten chicken broth was replaced at lunch time with a new bowl that he also only took two sips from before replacing the lid, pushing it aside, and going back to reading on his phone. Without taking her eyes from her own computer screen, Riley threatened "I know you didn't eat, just like this morning. If you don't eat something, I'm gonna rat you out. First to the nurses," she paused for dramatic effect and then made direct eye contact, "then to Jack." 

That was all he needed to convince him to try to eat more, but he still griped, "I'm just not hungry and a little queasy still." 

"You going on a hunger strike isn't helping anyone. There was a Pearl Jam song playing earlier about that I think. Now eat."

"I thought it was Audioslave." 

"Potato po-tah-toh" she waved her hand. "It was from before we were born, they all sound the same to me."

"Don't let Jack hear you say that." Mac had a moment of realization and then immediate terror "Riley," his eyes opened wide, "I told him."

"You told him what, exactly?" She was suspicious of this confession before he even made it.

"I told him about Tom Petty."

"Shit! No! Why?"

"I don't know," Mac panicked. "I was delirious from blood loss, I guess. I'm sorry, Ri."

"Dammit, you know you opened a can of worms that we will never be able to put a lid back on. See if I ever tell you anything in confidence again." She tried to be upset, but it was hard to be mad at Mac when he was laid up and pathetic like that. 

He blushed and dragged his hand over his hair, using the hand with the IV and bright orange "FALL RISK" bracelet for maximum sympathy points, "I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you, I swear." His groveling was impossible to resist, but the bags under his eyes, pale skin, and wild hair weakened her defenses further. She couldn't be mad at him. 

"You owe me. Big time." She tried to look angry, but her facade cracked. "Do you have any idea what you've started though, little brother? " 

"I know, I know." He sighed. "Hold on, _little_ brother? I'm older than you."

"But I knew Jack first, so you've been relegated to younger sibling." Riley sassed.

"But he was my partner first. I'm clearly the older sibling."

A gravely voice with a heavy drawl came from the other side of the room. "Would you two stop. There's 'nuff of me to go 'round."

"Holy shit, Jack." Riley was on her feet and by his side immediately. 

He blinked slowly twice, and his eyelids drooped as she kissed his forehead and held his hand. "I just need another minute, sweetheart," He mumbled.

"Of course." She replied, but he was already out again. Still fascinated by uncharacteristically long length of Jack's hair, she tousled it like she would Mac's. It was soft in her fingers instead of the usual prickly fauxhawk stiffened with product. She flattened it back down with her hand and smiled at him. 

Doctors, nurses, and physical therapists came in and out throughout the rest of the day. Ms. Lula and her intern came back near sundown. She scolded Mac for not eating too, so he had an audience for his next bowl of broth to make sure he actually ate a few bites. 

And Jack slept. He stretched and cracked every once in a while. He snored and snorted every now and then. He turned and rolled and groaned, but he did not wake. Riley and Mac talked to him and talked about him, but he just lay there with that monstrosity sticking out of his neck. People pulled blood from it, fluid went into it, sure it had a job to do and was helpful, but Riley couldn't look at it. The oxygen, the wires monitoring his heart, and all the stuff under the blankets she couldn't see bothered her too. If he was so ok like they said, why did they need all that? And why wasn't he he awake? She had been so ecstatic that morning when he seemed to emerge and acknowledge them, but now she was second guessing everything. Was he actually talking to them or just mumbling in a dream? Fourteen hours had gone by since he'd last tried to communicate, and almost 2 days since they'd arrived. She was assured by the medical professionals that this was ok, that his body had been through a lot...had been through enough to take most people out for good. For anyone else, it would have come to loss of a kidney, a lifetime of dialysis, organ failure, coma, death, or all of the above. She knew they were just trying to reassure her by boasting the toughness and perseverance of her father figure, but all it did was scare her more and add gravity to the situation. She pretended to keep a positive attitude for Mac's sake, he already seemed really stressed out and on edge about his own problems. She kept busy on the project she was working on, hoping Mac would rest, but trying to rest made him restless, so they chatted a lot while Mac nodded off occasionally. She'd hoped hearing their voices had kept Jack docile, he'd had no more growling or lashing out since they'd stayed there with him. 

While the staff knew that Riley wasn't deliberately keeping Mac awake, he'd refuse to sleep regardless of who was with him, they did advise him that if he didn't rest, she would have to leave. Mac was more of a napper than a maintenance sleeper. In general, he didn't sleep because humans required sleep, he usually only slept because he could no longer be awake. Generally he'd take cat naps here and there or sleep 16 hours straight from exhaustion after a hellish mission, but a cycle of going to bed at 11 and waking at 8 wasn't Mac's cup of tea. He slept when it was convenient or when it was physically impossible to stay awake any longer. 

He'd refused anything other than ibuprofen for the last 24 hours, but Mac didn't want Riley to have to leave, so he agreed to a sleep aid. Riley placed the recliner between the two beds again and also got a little shut-eye. The three managed to snooze fairly well a good part of the night despite the frequent interruptions to check vitals and take blood, taking them into a 12th day for their useless recon mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title reference:  
Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd 1975
> 
> Song reference:  
Hunger Strike - Temple of the Dog 1991 not Pearl Jam or Audioslave or even Soundgarden, but an amazing combination of members from those three from before Mac and Riley were even born.


	6. Nothing Else Matters

Jack rubbed his calves together noticing tightness in his hamstrings before extending his legs out and pointing his toes with an exhaling moan and a symphony of pops from most of his joints. He rolled onto his left side and tucked his knees toward his chest, feeling unusually tight back muscles and a weird pull at his side. There was a draft on his butt, so he swatted the blanket back in place behind him. Something on his finger dislodged and clattered to the ground when he hit the blanket. _The fuck?_ He thought. He felt around behind him to see if he was about to knock anything else over, and felt that weird pull in his side and neck again, like that time he fell asleep on the remnants of that girl's edible panties in college and his skin stuck to itself. 

He thought he may be sore, but wasn't sure exactly what he was feeling. His head was swimming and he was in the dark. Was he roofied and left in a bathtub full of ice with his organs missing? He didn't feel that cold and definitely not wet, and he was pretty sure this wasn't a bathtub...maybe. Jack ran his hand from the center of his exposed and tensed back around to his belly, stopping at the strip of tape on his side. _Mother fuck! _He ran his finger up and down it a few times trying futilely to count the stitches with senses dulled. 

He tried to open his eyes but they were so dry and weren't adjusting to the darkness. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly to try to get them wet, but it burned so badly every time he opened them. He pressed into his eyelids and massaged with his thumb and middle finger. Something clicked loudly and started to buzz behind him _jezus fuck! _ He felt pressure-maybe something squeezing his arm. He blinked more, finally getting his eyes to adjust to the dimmed lights in the room as his bicep was squeezed harder still. He looked at the offending object wrapped so tightly around his arm as it started to loosen its grip slowly in spurts. _A blood pressure cuff, fuck. _ He searched his arms for an IV that may tether him, but didn't locate one there. He found the cardiac monitor cables bunched together on the pillow near his face and yanked them off weakly, the oxygen cannula was discarded next. He was still lying on his arm with the blood pressure cuff and needed to raise up on his elbow to try to rip it off. Once he saw beyond the plastic rail on his bed, he realized he wasn't alone. 

_Riley, my baby girl,_ sleeping soundly in a chair. _Another bed. Blonde hair. Mac! _ The room was so dark, only strips of light hidden behind horizontal wooden panels gave enough light for people to not trip over things. _Was Mac ok? _ "Mac!" His voice didn't feel or sound like his own. It was scratchy, deep, and quieter. He swallowed before trying again, but his mouth was so dry. "Mac!" He had to go check on his boy. The tiny amount of balance he'd managed to achieve lifting up on his elbow was lost. He rolled onto his back again. He had get up to check on Mac. 

He pushed past the dizziness and sat forward, feeling something else on his shoulder. _More fucking wires._ He traced its path from the side of the bed up to his neck and found this offender to he tethered to his neck. _What in the shit is this? _ He gave it a slight tug just out of curiosity. _Looks like this is coming with me._ He tried to find a spot where he could uncouple the hose from whatever was attached to him. As he rotated his torso to see what he was attached to, something brushed the top of his leg. With the movement, he felt a piece of tape tug somewhere low on his belly and peeked under the blanket and gown to investigate what he could in the darkness. He suddenly felt very dizzy. With his hand he double checked the placement of that particular hose. _The fuck is going on? Are we being tortured? If so, why is Riley here? She's not being tortured. Or is she?_ "Riley!" That was a little louder, but not enough. He attempted to clear his throat to warm up his voice a little. It was a much louder sound, but he needed to move. Jack uncoupled the line between what was hanging from a bag above his bed and the line coming out of his neck. He leaned over the bed to reach Riley and made contact with her arm. The swimmy feeling in his head made her appear much further away than she actually was, and it also made his sense of balance non existent. He managed to keep himself in the bed by bracing himself with one arm while he fought gravity using Riley's recliner. 

"Oh my God! Jack!" Riley slammed the recliner footrest shut and helped push him back into the bed. "Are you with us? Are you really here?"

He looked at her, stunned by the questioning and the world still swishing in front of his eyes; he gave a single wide eyes nod. 

She grabbed him around the chest and gave a gigantic hug. By that point, Mac had woken up and was trying to figure out what was going on. 

Riley could hear his scratchy voice this close to her ear. "Mac. Is-is Mac ok?"

"Jack," Mac piped up. "I'm fine." 

"Fine for Mac? Or actually fine?" Jack returned.

Riley laughed, "fine for Mac, but he's good. He'll be back to actually fine soon." 

Jack planted his chin on her shoulder to take a look for himself and smiled. 

"See. Fine. All in one piece." Mac gestured up and down his body.

Riley loosened her embrace and allowed him to start to ease back into the bed.

Ms. Lula came through the door without closing it behind her, "Papa Bear, what are you doing?"

Jack looked around for someone else she may have been speaking to, and pointed to his chest, "me?"

"You've unhooked everything again." Lula started toward him, Derrick coming in behind her and picking up all the things Jack had dropped to the floor. 

"I wanted to get up. Had to check on my boy." He tilted his head in Mac's direction. 

"You can't get out of bed. You need to rest." She scolded.

"I feel ok. Just tired."

"Because you're on the good stuff. You'd fall flat on your face if you tried to get out of bed. And I promise you you're gonna want this back." She pointed to the PCA, "because it's dosing you now until you're ready to control it yourself." 

"I don't even know what happened. I remember Mac got shot, but I was fine." Jack questioned, volume barely above a whisper. 

"We'll tell you all about it later, Daddy. Now you need to rest." Riley's word choice for addressing her father figure elicited a curious eyebrow raise from Jack. "Let them get you settled back in. I'll turn on some music. Nothing says 4am wake up call like Metallica's black album."

"That's my girl." He grinned and relaxed as Ms. Lula raised the bed so Jack could sit upright. 

She pulled the gown from his arm to expose his chest and reconnect the cardiac leads. Derrick brought her new some tubing for the central line and stuck the O2 sensor back on Jack's finger. 

"Do I have to redo this one too?" Ms. Lula asked as she peeked under the blanket at his foley catheter. 

"No, ma'am, it's still there." Jack blushed. 

"Smart man. No one likes getting that one put back in."

"Damn, I'm tired." Jack lamented. 

"We'll be out of your hair in a second, then we'll check on your boy and that's the last you'll see of us tonight. I hope. Unless you pull this kind of crap again." Ms. Lula scolded. "Maybe you can get him to eat." She looked over toward Mac. 

"Hey, I ate!" Mac feigned offense.

"Four spoons of broth is not eating." Both females agreed in unexpected unison.

"Maaaac." Jack looked over at him. "You gotta eat."

Mac wasn't sure if Jack was docile and cooperative because Ms. Lula was a commanding presence, even more so than Matty, or because he was too tired to fight back. 

He even let them put the oxygen back on without resistance. 

Riley had Enter Sandman playing quietly from the ipod.

"Hey DJ, turn it up." Jack slurred.

Lula waggled her finger at him, "Not too much, it's 4am, be mindful of your surroundings."

"Yes ma'am."

Within a few minutes, Mac was checked over by his nurse with an audience of Jack hovering over as much as possible even from the other bed. Then they left the little family alone again.

"Good call, Ri, the black album is the best one," Jack complimented as the next song started.

"Speaking of music," Mac was a fan of a nice segue, and not quite ready to end Jack's likely short waking spell, so he continued, "when we were coming back through the woods, and you said the theme wasn't dead female singers...Riley and I discussed it, and we think the theme was protection. Like heroes, bodyguards, being saved."

"Heh," Jack snorted. "That's funny."

"What's funny?"

"I was just making shit up. I didn't have a theme at all. I just sang the first thing that popped into my head. I only told you there was a theme so you would have something to think about and stay conscious."

"I should have known." Mac was embarrassed that he'd spent so much time on an unsolvable puzzle, but he appreciated what Jack had done for him.

"Made ya think though." Jack gloated as he nodded off. 

Riley tucked Jack in, gave him a tiny peck on the forehead, and turned to Mac, "I'm gonna go to the hotel and get a shower and some breakfast. You go back to sleep and maybe they'll give you a popsicle for breakfast. Yum!" Her fake enthusiasm was answered by an eyeroll. She made sure he was comfortable, tucked him in, and kissed the top of his head, turning off the lights as she left.

The boys went undisturbed for three whole hours before Riley returned clean, fed, and refreshed. 

She was ready to finally get to enjoy an afternoon cooped up with her two favorite guys. She picked up three dozen donuts to leave with the staff to show her appreciation for their kindness and liberal adherence to visitation policies. 

They were both still snoozing when she entered, but Mac stirred when she shut the door. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands then stretched his arms out over his head, looking all of 6 years old with his hair sticking up wildly in every direction. She chuckled at the sight, "maybe they'll let me throw you in the tub and hose you down today." The music was still playing softly from the ipod as she checked the screen to see what was playing, "I don't know what 'the Human League' is but I thought this song was a Chunky Chips Ahoy commercial." 

Mac added, "Just never tell Jack that the only reason we recognize the majority of his old music is from bastardized versions of them in commercials."

"We're getting the deep cuts here. I switched it to 'play all' so we wouldn't hear the same stuff over and over again on the playlists. The playlist called 'Kickass Mixtape' is most of the same tracks as 'Roadtrip Mixtape.' I'm guessing Jack hasn't even heard most of these songs in years. Most of this isn't what I'd call his style of music," she noted as she scrolled through the track list, "but there's like a couple thousand songs on here. And none of them from this century."

"Oh I fully believe he likes the bad 80s pop garbage, but it's more a nostalgic fondness as opposed to it actually being his type of music. I mean he puts Salt-n-Pepa in the same playlist with AC/DC and the Beatles. He's really all over the place." 

"Some of this shit is really fun though, especially the 70s stuff, but the cheesy love ballads, oh my God, they're so terrible."

Mac's breakfast arrived-chicken broth, a popsicle, and black coffee. The thought of food was still offensive to him and made his stomach turn, but maybe the coffee would be ok. 

Jack slept through his vitals check and blood draw while Mac made a show of sipping his coffee so no one could accuse him of not eating again. 

Riley sensed Mac's returning discomfort with confinement. She pulled out the deck of playing cards recovered from the campsite to keep his hands and mind busy. She waved the pack of cards as she pulled up a chair to Mac's bed and lowered it. "Wanna play Go Fish? Rummy? Poker? Ooh War!" 

Mac grinned and agreed just to appease her. The bed couldn't get low enough for her to reach his tray table from the chair. "You wanna hop up here?" He motioned to the foot of the bed. 

"Mac, both your legs are busted, there's nowhere for me to sit." 

"Nah, I need to move them. Physical therapist said to reposition if I can." He pressed his palms straight down into the bed and lifted as he spread his knees apart and hung his ankles off either side of the bed. His face was contorted bracing for the pain. 

"Oh my God, Mac, you don't have to do that. I can stand."

He shook his head, lips tight, holding his breath. With a focused slow exhale, he relaxed a little, "no, it's fine. Good now. Hop up." He patted the bed across from him toward the foot.

She sat cross legged facing him and adjusted the tray. "The game is War. We are playing for…" she pondered while dealing the cards.

"Bragging rights? Money?" He suggested. 

"Hmmmm." She considered his options and lit up with an epiphany, "loser wears Jack's big belt buckles for a week, winner's choice."

"Ha!" Mac cackled, "Well you better buy yourself a pair of cowboy boots to match because you're gonna lose." 

She hadn't seen him smile like that in a while. It felt good. They laughed and cut up, throwing down cards with animated exuberance, guiltily hoping Jack would hear them. Jack made a lopsided smile in his sleep, punctuated by chuckle as he rolled to his side and snuggled back into his pillow. They continued to play cards for at least a half hour, until it was time for Mac’s PT session, so no one actually won the game. 

Afterward, like the previous day, Mac napped, Jack hibernated, and Riley sat between her guys working on her own thing on her computer after the morning’s excitement had worn them out. 

Around lunch time it was time to have a chat with Mac about not eating. He'd managed to avoid or distract from the fact that he wasn't actually consuming what was brought to him. The lunch delivered was chicken broth, jello, and iced tea that all sat untouched.

A nurse Mac hadn't met yet entered, reading about her two patients on the tablet. She stood by the door after closing it, staring intently at the information in front of her. She made a face, her long light brown hair pinned loosely to the top of her head with and accidental tendril escaping from behind her ear. She grabbed a plastic green chair, pulling it up to Mac's bedside, and extending her hand in introduction before sitting. Her dark purple scrubs clashed nicely with the green chair, reminding Mac of the Joker or Barney the dinosaur. 

"I'm Tasha, swing shift supervisor, nice to meet you…" she looked at tablet to see how to address him.

"Mac, just call me Mac." 

"Ok Mac, I'm gonna cut right to the chase, why aren't you eating?"

He shrugged, "not hungry, I guess."

"Well that's not really working out for you. I'm looking at all your numbers here, and I see you had a transfusion during surgery and also immediately after. We let you build back up on your own because you're healthy and young, but you're not bouncing back they way we expected. You're going to be stuck here a lot longer than you'd want, or we can intervene, or you can start eating. Once you graduate from clear liquids, we can move along to things that will help more, but first you need to consume some actual calories."

Mac grimaced and picked at a string on the blanket, a string he would have killed for the other night when he needed to unravel something to keep from going stir crazy. He looked at Riley who was trying to be invisible in the corner, then looked at the string twisting between his thumb and forefinger, "I don't know what to say. I'm not hungry. The thought of food makes me queasy."

"We can fix the nausea if that really is the issue."

"It's everything. It's this," he held up the IV, "it's getting shot, it's being here, stuck here, in this bed."

"Right. Nobody likes it here. But you not getting better means you stay longer. We're not necessarily keeping you here for your wound anymore, that can be dealt with at home." The statement punched Riley in the gut as she figured out what was going on. 

Mac had the guilty look of a young child that had been caught doing something wrong. He blinked at the nurse apologetically, not knowing what to say or even what he was apologizing for. He looked back at his own hands fiddling with the blanket and then over to Jack still sleeping soundly. 

"Maaaac," Jack drawled out unexpectedly, eyes still closed and his cheek squished into the pillow, "you gotta eat, hoss." He followed up this appearance with light snoring. They weren't sure if he was actually listening or dreaming.

"Listen to your dad." Tasha told him as she leaned in toward Mac and whispered, "and stop feeling guilty. You didn't do this to him. I can have someone from psych come speak to you."

"No thanks, I'm ok. I'll try harder. Sorry."

"I'll be back soon to check on you two" Tasha looked at Mac as she went out the door and Riley was immediately by his side.

"I told you you needed to eat," she whisper yelled at him. "Now they're gonna pump you full of meds or give you a feeding tube up your nose or something. Mac, I know you feel guilty for what happened-for NO good reason at all, but you have to get better. Imagine how Jack would feel if he thought you weren't getting better because he was laid up and you think you are to blame. You'd kill him. You two are a vicious cycle of self sacrifice and unwarranted guilt. Stop it. You have this like weird energy about each other, one gets hurt and the other pulls him up, making sure he gets better. Now here you are, both fucked up, and just kinda hanging out in hurt limbo. Well...Jack seems to be improving, but once he hears that you're not, he's gonna slide back down. Then you will. You can't do that to each other. You've got to take the lead on this one. For him." She looked over at Jack with an adoring smile and patted Mac's shoulder. "Now eat your room temperature soup."

Riley and Tasha's little pep talk led to Mac eating most of his broth and some iced tea, he told Riley it made his stomach hurt, but it stayed down. He had a lot more energy for PT later that afternoon. Jack continued to hibernate through the afternoon and dinnertime. 

After putting off eating his dinner for longer than Riley would allow, Mac slowly and reluctantly spooned tiny bites of jello into his mouth, wincing with every swallow. 

Riley had her legs propped up on the foot of Mac's bed with her laptop. "Come on, Mac, it's not that bad."

"The red dye gives me a headache."

"Mmmhmmm. Sure." She wasn't accepting his excuses. "Does room temperature jello melt in your mouth or do you have to swish it around in your mouth first before it turns into liquid."

His nostrils flared and he made a disgusted face, "You're not helping! I'm going to spit this out ON you if you say another word."

"Sorry sorry sorry, it was a legit question. I know you're struggling. I'll shut up now."

As if sensing a disturbance in the force, Jack groaned and rolled his shoulders back, both kids' attention immediately drawn to him as he cracked his eyelids.

"Hey big guy," Mac smiled, "you coming back to us?" 

Jack grunted and squeezed his eyes shut, blinking a few times in an attempt to focus as he turned his head toward his partner. Riley reached behind her and placed a grounding hand on his calf. 

Jack's gruff scratchy voice groaned out his words, "Anybody get the plate on that bus that hit me?"

Mac made a show of taking another bite and talking with his mouth full, "Did you get tired of playing Rip Van Winkle?"

"Vanilla Ice?" Jack questioned. 

"Huh?" Mac tilted his head like a puppy. "It's a Washington Irving story about a guy who...nevermind." 

Jack giggled with a knowing grin. "I know. I'm just fuckin' with ya'." He yawned and settled back in like he was going to doze off again. "I know the story. I am a little disappointed that the encyclopedia on legs didn't know Vanilla Ice's real name was Rob Van Winkle though."

"I'm sorry last century's pop culture references are lost on us sometimes." Riley laughed. 

"I need to find more grown up friends." Jack rubbed his eyes and raised the bed to a sitting position. "You ok over there, buddy?"

"Yea, Jack, I'm good." 

Jack lazily took in his surroundings, "How'd we get here?" 

"What do you remember?" Riley asked. 

"Mac bleeding in the truck and driving him to the hospital." His reply was sluggish. 

"But not the last 48 hours?" Riley pried?

"Forty-eight?" 

"You've been out for more than two days. Well in and out. You've talked to us a few times, seemingly lucid, and then back out for long periods of time." Mac added.

"Bullshit. Did I drive the truck through building and get ejected or something then?" He tentatively patted his head and down his face searching for cuts or bumps. Discarding the oxygen and stopping at the tape on the side of his neck. 

Riley crossed the room at lightning speed and pulled his hand away. "Leave it." She ordered.

He responded with the glare of a scorned child. She had to look away to hide her amusement because drugged childish Jack was adorable. She knew pouty pathetic Jack was around the corner, and he was hard to say no to. It hit her all of a sudden as she grasped his hand and he squeezed back that she'd really missed him. She had stayed positive and strong for Mac's sake and finally crumbled.

Her eyes welled up with tears, "When I got here and they told me that you were hurt too...and they asked me to sign some forms to consent for surgery. I-I was so afraid I'd lose both of you."

"Oh sweetheart, no." Jack tried to pull her into an embrace but she was awkwardly bending into the bed and he couldn't reach her without contorting. "Come up here." He patted the bed by his left hip and she shook her head to decline, afraid to hurt him. Sensing that, he explained, "you can't hurt me, baby. Come on up."

She hoisted herself up staying as close to the edge of the bed as she could manage and he raised his arm for her to burrow under. She snuggled her head on his shoulder and stretched her arm across his chest. Once she was settled, he wrapped both arms around her back and rested his chin in her hair, stealing a glance at Mac who obviously wished to be close enough to join them. Jack flashed him a sleepy smile and Mac couldn't help but smile back.

"So you don't remember anything from the past couple days?" Mac asked. "You were mostly in and out, but seemed somewhat lucid occasionally."

"Not really." Jack shook his head slowly concentrating hard to remember anything. "Flashes maybe. But it all looks and sounds like it's under water. Driving on the sidewalk. Pregnant nurse named Scooby Doo or something." 

Riley wiped her cheek on Jack's chest and readjusted herself to talk, "Sounds like a bad trip, and I think her name is Daphne." She gave him a slightly firmer squeeze. "How are you feeling?"

Jack blurted a short laugh, "heh. Kinda like a bad trip, yeah. Like I got hit by a bus, but I don't know if it actually hurts or I just think it's supposed to hurt. I feel like my body is real stiff and tight, but my insides are all loose and squishy. I'm sure things will come back once the fog lifts." He stroked the back of her hair, each one slower than the previous, with more time between each pat until she heard a quiet snore. She stayed put just a little while longer, not quite ready to give up the snuggle just yet. She finally slipped out from under his grip and straightened her clothes out with a brush of her palms. 

When the night shift came on duty an hour later, Jack was easy to rouse. He was laughing and cutting up with Ms. Lula and her intern. He was still sluggish and laying on the Texas charm, but his goofy drunken chuckle was music to everyone’s ears. With lucidity came awareness of his body. Jack dealt with pain in two extremes, he either brushed it off completely or it consumed him wholly. His muscles were tight from previous strain and then lack of use, and any movement came with a cramp or a pull. The drugs seemed to make him care less that he was hurting, but once he became aware of what happened and the toll it took on his body, it was hard to ignore the pain. He still worried about Mac, he could see the guilt in Mac's face every time he caught him looking over. Mac carried the weight of the world on his shoulders already, adding the weight of Jack was crushing him. Nothing that had happened was Mac's fault, and Jack wasn't sure how to take his own weight off Mac's shoulders besides proving to Mac that he was still there. Jack was worried that Mac wasn't getting better. Maybe if Jack would have taken out that goon with a headshot instead, Mac would be at home nursing that twisted knee by the fire pit with a cold beer instead of withering away to nothing, with a bullet hole in his leg, sick with worry because Jack's own old body couldn't shake off a hit to the vest. In his drug addled haze, he finally saw the cyclical nature of their self blaming for the other ever being hurt. He guessed the only way to get Mac back to peak condition was to show him that good ol' Jack was still alive and kicking, making dumb jokes, singing old songs, and telling long winded stories that went nowhere so that they could both get back to where they needed to be.

It was just before time to turn the lights down for the night. Jack had been dozing in and out, dad style, participating occasionally in conversation, but pretending like he had been paying attention the entire time. 

“Hey,” he interrupted as Riley and Mac were discussing the pros and cons of digital ticketing mostly in terms of counterfeiting and fraud. “Your mama had a little scrapbook where she kept the movie and concert ticket stubs from the ones we went to together. I’m sure she’s junked it by now, but I liked having those old ticket stubs. We took you to see one of those Harry Potter movies and you acted like you were too big for that shit, but you loved it.” 

Riley's heart melted. She was sure that her mother still had that scrapbook because she kept a lot of sentimental relics in an old footlocker- pictures of great grandparents, a box of weirdly folded notes exchanged between Diane and her best friend in middle school, and a few old magazines. Mom didn't throw something like that out, and Riley made a mental note to ask her mom about that one.

“I guess that would be something for the pros of physical ticketing column.” Mac added.

“You two talk about some weird shit.” He stated as if it were a complaint, but it was really just an observation.

“Well what do you want to talk about, Papa Bear?” Riley mocked.

“Nothin’. I just like listening.”

She added, “Well that’s a first.” 

“Don’t make me get up outta this bed and put you over my knee.” 

"I dare you." She put her hands on her hips in a taunting manner.

"Mac," Jack whined, "tell her she's not s'posed to call my bluff."

Mac laughed him off, "Goodnight, Jack."

Jack continued, slurring his words, "That's the rules. You're not supposed to call Jack's bluff because he's probably bullshittin' ya."

Riley said it more sternly than Mac had, but still with affection, "Good night, Jack."

"I'm not tired, Mac" Jack yawned, "sing me a lullaby." He rolled to his left side, shoved both arms under the pillow, and snuggled into it. 

"Um, no." Mac declined emphatically.

"How bout you, Ri? Maybe a little…" Jack pretended to ponder, "Tom Petty?" Riley kicked the side of Mac's bed. Jack paused for a moment, "Yeah, I remembered." He didn't try to hide his grin. 

Riley sighed and pleaded “Jack, let's not make this weird. I like it when it’s called for. Don’t let Mac’s deathbed confessions ruin it for everyone else.” 

“Next time don't call my bluff," he was patronizing them so unexpectedly. "So hows about you tell me what’s ok then? ok?” His words were slow and rumbling, like he was about to nod off again, but the gears were turning. “We’ll start with A.”

Riley looked to Mac, eyes widened. Was he serious? What kind of monster had they created?

“Abba?”

Riley jumped in quickly, “Please don’t.” 

“AC/DC?”

Mac got that one, “no.”

“Ace of Base?”

“Who?” Riley asked. “Is that like a Vanilla Ice thing?”

Mac fielded that one, “They’re like a shitty 90s version of ABBA.” 

“That’s a definite NO then.” 

Jack pondered for a long second, “Audioslave?”

They answered in unison, but still slightly unsure of what they were committing to, “ok.” Mac was very impressed that not only were Jack's suggestions given alphabetically, but chronologically as well. He wasn't surprised though, despite his outward goofiness, Jack's brain was meticulously organized and trained to stay sharp even when he wasn't firing on all cylinders.

Jack grinned at finally getting a yes, and his brain moved on to the letter B. "Bob Seger?"

"I can concede to Bob Seger." Mac nodded.

Jack beamed a shit eating grin, pleased he had more variety added to his repertoire. “Boyz II Men?”

“No!” Riley didn’t hesitate. “No prom music, no R&B. No.”

“Damn. Harsh.” Jack shrank back. “Britney Spears?”

She was on a roll shooting Jack down, “Hasn’t the poor girl been through enough? I’m gonna say no to that one.” Riley opened her mouth to attempt to stop Jack’s prattling, but Mac shook his head slightly at her, gesturing with his eyes in Jack's direction and mimicking his sleepy look. She responded with a realizing nod and mouthed, “oh, ok.”

“Bruce Springsteen?” Jack asked, blinking slowly, eyes closed just a little longer each time. 

"I'd rather you not,” Mac stated, but Jack was already asleep again. Mac couldn't help by be amused by Jack's impromptu artist list; alphabetical by first name, unorthodox, but clever and still in chronological order. 

Riley pulled the blanket up to Jack's shoulders and kissed his temple lightly. She did the same for Mac and settled into her recliner overwhelmed with relief that her family was actually finally whole again.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy epilogue to come. Probably.
> 
> Title Reference:  
Nothing Else Matters - Metallica 1991
> 
> Songs referenced:  
Don't You Want Me - The Human League 1981  
Enter Sandman - Metallica 1991  
The Unforgiven - Metallica 1991
> 
> Songs not mentioned specifically, but for context sake, if you're genuinely curious, these are the bad 80s pop, cheesy love ballads, and fun 70s songs that Riley was referring to:  
Cush on You - The Jets 1986  
Puttin On the Ritz - Taco (cover) 1982  
I Swear - All-4-One 1993  
All 4 Love - Color Me Badd 1991  
And as for fun 70s, just randomly choose something fun by ELO or Supertramp or Queen.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around, guys. It means the word to me


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy fluff to cap off the story

It was technically day 18 of the mission that wouldn't end because they hadn't yet been debriefed, but Team Improv was back at Mac's house safe and sound. Mac sat in a recliner they'd brought over from Jack's apartment, tinkering with something. Jack was lying on his belly across the entire couch napping while a Star Wars movie played on the tv. Riley was also on the couch playing on her phone, pinned down by Jack's plaid pajama covered shins across her lap and her own feet propped up on the coffee table. 

"I don't think I'm gonna be ready to go back to work tomorrow, I'm gonna miss all the fun." Riley complained. "I mean I've been off for over a week now, so I can't complain, but those first few days at the hospital were so stressful." She looked toward the kitchen at Bozer as she started to rant, "Bozer's getting paid to stay home, why not me?"

"He's getting paid to babysit." Mac begrudgingly explained, almost embarrassed, "Jack's on a month of bedrest and sleeping 18 hours a day like some old house cat."

"I heard that!" Jack announced unexpectedly, muffled by the pillow he was sleeping on.

Mac continued, "so he's not going to be doing any cooking or driving or laundry, and I have to get to PT still, so it's not exactly fun and excitement you're missing. The only perk for him is that Bozer can add 'nanny' to his résumé. I'm sure it could have been you staying with us, but another team needs your exceptional skill set tomorrow." Mac put the toy he was fiddling with in his lap not really caring if a little grease got onto his gray sweatpants, "weren't you working on an assignment those first few days in the hospital? You seemed very focused, I assumed you were helping out on some other mission."

"No." She avoided eye contact even though Mac was looking directly at her.

"Well there's no way you were just playing video games, you had that look. That look you get when you're about to save the world with a few keystrokes."

"Ha," she answered nervously, "you'll see what that was about after dinner." She moved Jack's legs out of her way and gently placed them where she had been sitting before covering him with an old crocheted blanket and heading to the kitchen to help Bozer with dinner and avoid further questioning. 

The little spy family was gathered around the fire pit, finishing the London broil with all the fixings that Bozer and Riley had prepared. Riley stepped away and returned with a thin box tied with a colorful ribbon. She handed it to Jack who put his plate down, confused as to why and what she was giving him. He couldn't help but smile when he noticed her sporting one of his big Cowboys belt buckles, not feeling the need to question it, just rolling with it. 

He delicately untied the ribbon and pulled the top of the box off, unfolding the tissue paper inside. His face revealed a look of shock and amazement. 

Riley decided to fill in the blanks so Mac wasn't totally in the dark. "They recovered your sketchbook from the stakeout site. I got nosy and flipped through it and noticed what you'd drawn since you'd been away. It was amazing work, Jack." She saw him wipe a tear from his eye. "You had eight black and white pages of full comic book panels, and the hero I'm assuming is Mac. Looks like me and Boze are part of the team too."

Mac was completely unfamiliar with this and scooted a little closer to Jack to watch him flip through the pages. 

Riley continued, "so I took the liberty of scanning them in and coloring them, and I also sent the scans to Bozer to see if he could help out with finishing the story seeing as how he's got the artistic skill and writing talent to do that."

Bozer stood over Jack's shoulder and pointed to the comic book, "So I finished out the story in your drawing style and added another character."

Jack laughed out loud when he got to the last page of the book seeing himself drawn in as a character in his own comic book. "I like the eye patch, nice touch."

"I was a little heavy handed with the Nick Fury analogies, sorry. I just wanted it to be obvious that you were a very important part of the team since you'd left yourself out of the story."

Jack closed and held up the comic book, flipped it over front to back, admiring the authenticity and detail put into publishing it, feeling another tear welling up. "Guys," he faltered, at a loss for words, "I don't even know what to say."

"Well that's not normal," Bozer stated as he gathered empty plates and headed toward the kitchen. He stacked multiple plates on one arm and felt Jack's forehead with his free hand, "do we need to go back to the hospital?" 

Jack swatted Bozer's hand away. "Come on. I ain't that bad." Jack stood and grabbed his and Mac's tea glasses and followed Bozer into the house. Riley put her hand out to help Mac pull himself up without straining too badly and walked alongside him for support, just in case, on his slow walk back inside. 

The family gathered around the TV for ice cream and apple pie... with a little _Die Hard,_ of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title is the hook from an old Tom Petty song.
> 
> Chapter 2 coming once I find an old song to use for a chapter title.


End file.
